Greys in Green
by Crumple-Horned Snorkak
Summary: My name's Astoria Ma…Greengrass. Let's not have spoilers, my name's Astoria Greengrass. I used to be a regular young witch from an old wizarding family, living my peaceful, comfortable life, not stepping on anyone's toes. Then the War happened. Well, we c
1. Prologue

**A/N: Greetings, dear readers, potential readers, and curious skimmers! XD Welcome to my second fanfic. I won't bother you with philosophical explanations or personal dissertations about the reasons that led me to write this. I just hope you may find it interesting and enjoyable. If you could let me know your thoughts, opinions, suggestions, etc., I would be much obliged. Thank you, and good reads to you all! :D**

**P.S.: I attempted to stay as true as possible to canonical information from the books and Pottermore. I own nothing but my take on the characters I borrowed and the few I had to come up with for the plot. All credit goes to J.K. Rowling for the wonderful world and story she created.**

* * *

**Prologue**

My name is Astoria Ma… Greengrass. Let's not have spoilers, my name is Astoria Greengrass. But you can call me Tori, everybody does. Well, except my parents and my old governess, when they were about to tell me off. Sometimes, when they were particularly displeased, like when I wandered off outside the moat surrounding our family's property and ended up in the Muggle village nearby, they'd even go as far as to call me "Astoria Prudence Genevieve!".

Yes, you have my permission to snicker, that really is my name. I honestly don't know who allowed my parents to name their children without adult supervision. My sister's name's just as bad: Daphne Honoria Gisabelle. I mean, couldn't they just give us two normal names and be done with it?

Anyway, you're probably thinking I surely put a lot of thought into this issue. It is true that there was a time when I had little more to perturb me than whether or not I liked the sound of my name, how mad Ms. Harrington, our governess, would be after discovering the rather uncharitable notes Daph and I had been swapping about her during our Latin lesson, or where I would hide my latest harvest of Smarties nicked from the grocer's down at the village, so that Mum and Dad wouldn't find out.

I probably should say this, or you'll get the wrong idea: it's not like they explicitly forbade me or Daph to ever go there, we just were not supposed to go by ourselves. The reason we broke that rule every so often was that none of the adults were ever inclined to take us. Truth be told, interaction between us and the Muggle population was virtually non-existent, even though Little Appleton is the nearest settlement for several miles around our family's house. Which, incidentally remains to this day its namesake, Little Appleton Hall.

Daph and I were thus subtly discouraged from mingling with the non-magical folk, and remain close to our family's roots. But, mind you, we were not raised with the most radical pure-bloodist doctrines; you would never have heard within the walls of our home terms like "Muggle scum" or "filthy Mudblood" (those we only learned later, when we went to Hogwarts). Though, admittedly, you wouldn't sooner see anyone from a non-magical, less than respectable background be invited over for tea, either.

So, basically, the Greengrasses, one of the most ancient wizarding families in Britain, were able to assume something like a neutral position, while still staying true to the traditions.

And then the war happened. All of a sudden, the world was supposed to be completely black and white. There wasn't room for in betweens.

Beliefs were questioned, loyalties tested and faiths shattered and restored. And when it was all said and done, I was more certain than ever that there is no such thing as a black and white world, that we're not mere pieces in someone else's chess game, and that it truly is darkest before the dawn.

But I'm getting the carriage way ahead of the Thestrals here. Let me start this story from the beginning, on the night it all first hit me like a TGV version of the Hogwarts Express (see, how's that for a Pureblood's knowledge of the Muggle railway system?). Let's go back to May 1st 1998.


	2. Chapter 1 - The Battle

**Chapter 1**

I walked into the dormitory that afternoon after classes in a rather bad-mood. There, I found Eve Nussenbaum in full on pity fest mode. She sat on her bed bawling about having been horribly wronged by some person or another, and the other girls gathered around her, wallowing in her fake tears and crooning like she was an injured baby unicorn fighting for its life.

You might think I'm being terribly insensitive here, but after five years of sharing a dormitory with her and witness from front row seats her throwing these kind of tantrums more times than I can count, you'll understand where I'm coming from. And that year, especially, she seemed to have been trying to break some kind of record of who could spend more time sulking and whining.

This, I came to find out later, might have had something to do with stress over the Muggle-Born Registration Committee being after her granddad because, having immigrated from Austria decades before, he'd been unable to prove his ancestry. But, like I said, I wasn't aware of that particular circumstance at the time, so my reactions to Eve's behaviour were usually more of annoyance than sympathy.

Anyway, that afternoon, the girls all turned to glare at me when I came in, which at once dispelled any doubts I might still have had as to who the villain of the day may be. Again.

You see, it's not like Eve and I hated each other or anything. It's just that my tendency to keep apart from her circle of faithful cronies, and mostly everyone in general, made me an easy target for her outbursts.

Don't get me wrong, I was not some anti-social introvert loner who despised and avoided all human contact. In fact, I like to think I'm quite good-natured and agreeable, though I do appreciate time by myself every now and then. I just didn't feel the need to pledge myself into this or that particular crowd in order to fit in. Popularity had never been my goal, and I was perfectly content without a fixed group of confidants but speaking relatively well with everyone in general.

But back to the story: they were all glaring at me. I did the most dignified thing: rolled my eyes at them and headed to my side of the dormitory to pick up the book I wanted.

\- Don't you have something to say to poor Eve, Tori? – Ramona Flint, Eve's right-hand girl, shot coldly at me.

You'd think that Ramona, being the pure-blood from one of the oldest wizarding families, would come first in the circle's hierarchy, with Eve, the half-blood, being her second-in-command, and not the other way around, wouldn't you?

Anyway, I looked back at them with nonchalance and replied:

\- Not really.

They tut-tuted and glared some more and Eve sniffled dramatically.

\- The least you could do was apologise! – Ramona went on - You know poor Eve has been struggling in Potions, and now thanks to you, her mark is going to fall!

\- Not that I owe you any explanations, Ramona, – I said, my anger now boiling beneath the surface – but thanks to me, she's not already flunked! I didn't mess up that Strengthening Solution, she did! She was in charge of adding the salamander blood while I powdered the Griffin claw, but did she do it? No, she had her head elsewhere, as per usual, and threw pomegranate juice into the cauldron, instead!

\- I was paying attention! – Eve protested, speaking up for the first time – It's your fault for not labelling your phials decently!

\- I told you it was the one on the left! If you had been listening…

\- I was listening! You weren't clear!

\- Well, and you should be able to tell the ingredients apart on your own, by now! There's a reason we divide the work! I shouldn't have to constantly check to see if my partner is doing her part right!

Apparently the other girls interpreted that remark as an offense to Eve's intelligence. I'll spare you the details, but you can imagine I had just practically waged war on my entire dormitory. Well, not exactly the entire dormitory. To be fair, Lottie did put in a couple of reasonable arguments in my defence. It was her usual procedure in these kinds of situation, to observe the scene, patiently waiting it out without compromising one way or the other, but reserving judgement until she'd heard both sides. This is because, unlike the blindly loyal Evelettes, Lottie has always had a mind of her own and is not afraid to use it.

Like I said before, I wasn't one for devoted attachments and declared unshakable friendships. But if I had to name someone as my buddy, it would be Charlotte Selwyn, Lottie for short. Mind you, you'd hardly find us wearing twin BFF bracelets, or opening up our souls and delving into each other's teenage dramas and whatnot!

Like me, she didn't pin herself to any definite group, and I found her quite easy to talk to. I'd met her several times before coming to Hogwarts, her family being one of those who had the implicit seal of approval to be invited over for tea, back at home. Then, when Daph started to have all her friends coming to stay for a week or two over the summer, or when she went to stay with them, Mum and Dad would ask me if I too wanted to have some company my own age. I would invite Lottie.

Anyway, so the girls were turning on me like a band of banshees. At some point, Eve, either still or again with tears in her eyes, spat at me:

\- Well, why don't you ask Slughorn to let you work by yourself, since you're so smart you don't need a partner?

\- Well, I certainly don't need a partner I can't communicate with because she only speaks whiny! – I couldn't help retorting angrily. I mean, honestly, she was being absolutely ridiculous! And I went on – At least Sean could read the instructions on the book! In fact, I wish he could still be here, I much preferred having him as my partner!

There was one or two gasps and the dormitory fell silent. I had just said about the worst thing one could say, in that time and place. You see, Sean O'Leary, my old Potions partner, had been a Muggle-born Gryffindor. I'm sure you'll appreciate the gravity of a Pure-blood Slytherin like myself making such a remark in the heart of Slytherin House, during the height of the Dark Lord's rule.

\- The Mudblood?! – Ramona shrieked, appalled.

\- I'm telling Ms. Carrow what you've just said! – Eve chirped nastily, her previously profuse tears now completely replaced by a threatening gleam in her eye.

I gulped involuntarily. Setting my face in the most convincing defiant sneer I could muster, I replied:

\- What makes you think she'll believe you?

This was obviously just for show. Even if Eve didn't have her faithful cronies to back her up and it was just her word against mine, I knew very well Ms. Carrow, our Muggle Studies Professor, Deputy Head and proud Death Eater, didn't need a soundproof excuse to hand out punishments. And, believe me, when I say "punishments", I don't mean writing lines. Suffice it to say that, compared to her and her brother, who taught Dark Arts in lieu of what had once been Defence Against the Dark Arts, and their idea of corrective methods, Filch's newly reinstated whip seemed as harmless as getting tickled by a Pigmy Puff.

\- Stop being stupid, - Lottie intervened – both of you! Eve, leave the Carrows out of this. And Tori, take that back!

She shot me a meaningful look. Eve looked miffed at being ordered around, and quite frankly, so was I, even if it was Lottie and she was doing it in my best interest. I glared at all of them and said, stubbornly:

\- I will not!

* * *

I distinctly remember sitting alone at the furthermost corner of the Slytherin table from the Faculty table, that evening at dinner. I kept glancing at the Carrows and doing my very best to look invisible (without actually resorting to magical camouflage, because, according to the school rules that year, presence at meals was mandatory and so, defying that rule would most likely have a similar result to the one I was dreading).

\- What happened?

I looked up from my plate to see Daphne observing me intently. I really must have had "anxiousness" spelt across my forehead, for my sister to give up sitting with either her usual gang of friends or her boyfriend.

\- Nothing. – I replied in a low tone.

We weren't really supposed to speak during meals, but we knew that, being pure-blood and Slytherin, we could get away with it, provided we kept the volume to a minimum.

That day, however, I don't think it would've mattered even if we weren't. The two Death Eater siblings were having a hard time quelling the widespread buzzing around the Great Hall, especially with none of the other teachers doing much to help then, quite the opposite even. All because an idiot at Ravenclaw table had got up and shouted about Potter and his two friends, one Weasley and the smart muggle-born, breaking into Gringotts and escaping on a dragon. I mean, what exactly had he hoped to accomplish with that foolhardy display?!

Of course Professor Amycus Carrow hadn't let anyone take another bite until he was satisfied that the boy was thoroughly beaten up to a point he had had to be carried away by a couple of friends, unconscious. I hadn't been able to take another bite even afterwards.

\- Tori… - Daphne pushed on, worriedly – You look like you're waiting for a death sentence! Did you get yourself in detention with the Carrows?!

\- Not yet… - I replied, and the dread was plain in my small voice. I glanced at the two Death Eaters again, and then blurted out without even thinking – But if Eve goes through with reporting me to them…

\- Report for what?! What did you do?!

\- Nothing! Our potions assignment didn't go too well and now she's lashing out at me!

Well, it was close enough to the truth. It wouldn't do any good to mention in a relatively quiet room full of under stimulated but over sensitive ears that I'd spoken in favour of a Muggle-born and then even refused to take it back.

I should've expected what followed my admission. Later, when I arrived at the Common Room after an evening at the library, studying for my coming O.W.L.s, it was to find Eve standing surly in front of Theo Nott and Pansy Parkinson, respectively Daphne's boyfriend and best friend, and Head Boy and Girl.

Needless to say, I was in for a treatment of venomous glares and snide remarks from Eve &amp; Co. as soon as the Heads turned their backs. I spotted my sister, pulled her aside to a relatively secluded place and demanded, angrily:

\- What did you do?

\- Hey, manners, little sister!

\- Little sister, my witchy behind! Why do you have to be so meddlesome, Daphne?! I'm done telling you things!

\- Don't be a brat, Tori, I was looking out for you!

\- Well, don't! The last thing I need is for my big sister to come pitting her gang against Eve's, like I'm some defenceless imbecile that needs the 7th years to stand up for her! I am perfectly capable of handling stuff by myself! I don't need you, okay, Daphne? So just leave me alone, will you!

And with that, I turned my back and headed to my dormitory. I ignored the scathing whispers and vicious looks thrown my way while I put on my pyjamas. Or rather, the attire that served me as pyjamas: a pair of sporty cotton shorts and a baggy Nirvana t-shirt. Yes, I do mean Nirvana, the Muggle band. You can call it my little symbolic act of rebelliousness against the dictatorial Carrow regime. I was perfectly safe, though, as nobody ever laid eyes on the incriminating piece of clothing outside of the dormitory, and I knew for sure none of my roommates recognised it for what it was.

The siren called for curfew just as I climbed into bed, having brushed my hair and pulled it into two loose pigtails. Mind you, it was a hairstyle I used only for sleeping, simply out of comfort and practicality! I hardly could go about my daily life making myself look even more like a little child than my petite frame and tardy evolving feminine curves already did.

Anyway, I drifted off to sleep already sensing a nightmare of blood-thirsty Carrow siblings coming for me. Only to be waken about a couple of hours later to find the whole school thrown into one a thousand times worse.

* * *

We were all looking around utterly puzzled as we were pulled out of our beds and ushered out of the dungeon by our prefects, without much of an explanation. Here and there sprouted bizarre whispers that the Dark Lord was on his way, or that Potter had broken into the castle. But honestly, all I thought was why on earth would either of them come to the school in the middle of the night, and what the hell did we have to do with it.

On arriving at the Great Hall, we found the students from the other houses sitting at their tables, as though we were coming in for lunch. Except everyone was completely dishevelled, some in traveling cloaks, some in dressing gowns, others clutching probably the first things they'd got their hands on in their rush, like a stuffed unicorn, or a Quidditch bat, or a school bag.

At the front, Professor McGonagall began speaking, and all the other teachers stood behind her with grave expressions. No, not all of them, I realised. The Carrows weren't there. Neither was Professor Snape, and he was the Headmaster, he should be the one addressing us. Though, oddly, Professor Lupin was. He had been my first year D.A.D.A. teacher, sacked at the end of the year when it got out that he was a werewolf. And there were more people there that had nothing to do with the Faculty, and whom Professor McGonagall soon introduced as members of the Order of the Phoenix. I had never even believed that existed for real!

\- … evacuation will be overseen by Mr. Filch and Madam Pomfrey. Prefects, when I give the word, you will organise your House and take your charges… - Professor McGonagall was saying, while I kept nervously looking around, lest the Carrows should come in any moment and started Crucioing us all for breaking curfew.

Well, forgive my sleepy, naïve brain, but at that point, I hadn't yet grasped the full reality of the situation, and so those two were the only Death Eaters that I was concerned about. Yes, I knew that Professor Snape was a Death Eater as well, but I had known him as my Head of House and Potions master for years, and he had never displayed such a proclivity for cruelty, bordering on sadism, as the other two.

On glancing around, I noticed a rather furtive figure skirting the walls near the Gryffindor Table. My head whipped in its direction in a near panic, but on second look, it oh so innocently gave way to mere surprise. It was Harry Potter! More people were starting to notice him as well, just as Ernie Macmillan stood up at the Hufflepuff table and asked something that I was too distracted to catch, but that elicited a smattering of applause.

\- … The important thing is to get you out of here safely. – Professor McGonagall was replying to yet another question, just as it began to click in my mind that Potter really had broken into the castle and that, therefore, the Dark Lord was indeed on his way.

I was startled out of my budding dread by Eve shouting right in front of me:

\- Where's Professor Snape?

\- He has, to use the common phrase, done a bunk. – Professor McGonagall responded, to exploding cheers from the other House tables.

McGonagall was again instructing us to follow our prefects, when I had to bite my knuckles to muffle my scream of terror, as a cold, high, clean voice cut across her, echoing all around the Hall, seeming to come from the very walls:

\- I know you're preparing to fight. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you should be rewarded. You have until midnight.

As one, every head turned in Potter's direction. And then Pansy got up and broke the silence to shout what I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind for even a split second, as I'm sure it did a lot of people:

\- But he's there! Potter's there! Someone grab him!

I confess I was a little affronted at how all the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws instantly got up protectively in front of Potter, facing us Slytherins with their wands drawn out. I mean, yes, I'd heard Pansy, and I've admitted to seeing where she was coming from, but there's a difference between thinking it and actually doing it. Not to mention that it was very hypocritical of them to act like we were the only ones who would ever consider the possibility, seeing as self-preservation is the basic instinct of human nature, as well as very prejudiced to assume our whole House was a threat.

I can't say that I was surprised, though. At that time, it wasn't uncommon for the other Houses to unite against ours. They said Slytherins were all stuck-up, evil pure-blood bigots, but really, were they any better, writing us all off as peas of the same pod? Sure, a lot of us came from traditional wizarding families and, yes, quite a few known Death Eaters, even the Dark Lord himself, and many dark wizards and witches in general had belonged to our House. But did that mean none of us was even worth getting to know as an individual person, or even had individual mind and personality outside of that stereotypical frame?

I don't know, maybe it was my inherent indisposition toward groupings and labels, but sometimes I wondered if the Sorting didn't promote more disunity and prejudices than it did the sense of family and belonging it was supposed to.

Anyway, rather following in with the trend, McGonagall replied coldly:

\- Thank you, Ms. Parkinson. You will leave the Hall first with Mr. Filch. If the rest of your House could follow.

We did. I didn't even know where I was going, I wasn't paying attention. Fear and anxiety were growing inside of me and my head was constantly looking around for my sister and my cousin.

\- They'll be alright. – Lottie, who was staying close beside me, said, squeezing my hand, though she was looking rather queasy herself – It's just Potter he wants.

\- Yeah. – I replied, distractedly. But then, as I caught sight of Archie, my cousin, among a group of first years huddled together, looking terrified with tears streaming down their faces, as they were directed into a passage by Theo and Filch, I grumbled – What the hell was he thinking, coming here, anyway?! Is he trying to get us all killed along with him?!

I mean, don't get me wrong, I personally didn't wish Potter any harm, but he did know he was a hunted man. The way I saw it, he should've just stayed in hiding, preferably well away from everyone I cared about.

We were shortly joined by the other Houses. There was a lot of pushing and shoving and crying and screaming for friends and relatives, whose names got lost and jumbled together among the noise. In the middle of the tumult, I got separated from Lottie, and I still hadn't caught sight of Daphne when I somehow was pushed and fell to the floor.

I struggled for what felt like an eternity and a half to get out from under the herd of kicking and trampling feet. I finally emerged, bruised and bleeding, having lost my place in the exiting line, and still without knowing where my sister was.

My body ached, my mind was numb with the mounting dread and desperation, and all I could hear over and over inside my head were my own spiteful words: "I don't need you, okay, Daphne? So just leave me alone, will you!"

I felt tears prickle my eyes, as I desperately scanned the crowd, but I didn't even recognise anyone from my House anymore. Just before I started to hyperventilate, I saw them. Two large figures and a tall, platinum-blond one parting from the crowd. I didn't even stop to think why they would be heading in the opposite direction, away from the exit, from safety. They were Daph's classmates and that was all that mattered at the moment. I set off after them.

Then I don't know exactly how it happened. One moment they were there, the next I had lost them. Before I had even thought "what now?", Professor McGonagall dashed by, followed by about half a dozen 7th years, animating statues and suits of armour as she went. I had barely time to acknowledge that Daph was not among her group, when I was forced to scamper away into a passage behind a tapestry to avoid being again trampled, this time by an army of iron and solid stone.

By then I was starting to realise it had probably been a very stupid idea to stray away from the evacuation point. In all likelihood, Daph had got out just after Pansy, and there I was, getting myself stupidly trapped in a castle on the brink of a battle!

I honestly thought my panicking brain was starting to hallucinate when I came across Sean O'Leary, my old Potions partner. He was trailing behind a group headed by a young man I was fairly sure was one of the Weasley twins, who had left the school two years before with quite a spectacle. I couldn't stop myself exclaiming:

\- Sean?!

He halted and seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

\- Tori?! – then his eyes widened even more and a hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he remarked – Nice t-shirt!

I was still in my pyjamas, that is to say, my shorts and Nirvana t-shirt. I had completely forgotten about my secret rebellious gesture! That was the first time it crossed my mind that my pyjamas might get me killed. Calm down, I told myself, only someone with a good knowledge of the Muggle entertainment would recognise it, and those are in even more danger than you.

\- Hey, you're not supposed to be at school, this year! – I blurted out to Sean, rather stupidly.

\- No, I've been in hiding. Me and a few more. You know the Creevey brothers, from my House? They got word that Harry Potter was here, and we came to fight!

\- What?! Don't be stupid, you're underage!

\- So are you! – he protested, and then narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously and asked – What are you doing here, then?

I opened my mouth but found no answer to give. I wasn't about to tell him that I was wandering around, not knowing the way to the evacuation point I shouldn't even have got away from to begin with. Then, before I could come up with a haughty retort to deflect his question, we were both startled by a weird, keening scream in the distance and, through the closest window, we caught sight of bursts of light tearing the dark night. It was midnight.

As Sean took off after his group, I set off up the stairs, trying desperately to at least remember how many floors I'd climbed when I'd left the Great Hall with the rest of my House, while the whole castle shook with an earth-shattering explosion, and a panic I cannot put into words gripped at me.

Shortly after another terrifying explosion, I'd just thought I recognised something promising about the corridor now coming into view just around the corner, when the tall, thin man with stringy grey hair and beard holding his wand ready at the entrance of it grunted:

\- Potter!

The black haired boy who'd just hurtled into view approached him, as he grumbled:

\- I've had hundreds of kids thundering through my pub, Potter.

\- I know, we're evacuating. Voldemort's…

\- Attacking because they haven't handed you over, yeah – the man, whom I now recognised as the owner of the Hog's Head, the pub down at the village, interrupted – I'm not deaf, the whole of Hogsmeade heard him. And it never occurred to you to keep a few Slytherins hostage?

You can imagine my panic multiplied by about a hundred at this.

\- There are kids of Death Eaters you've just sent to safety. Wouldn't it have been a bit smarter to keep 'em here?

Despite my fear, I couldn't help the anger that boiled up inside of me. Forget about the prejudice against our House, he was actually talking about threatening innocent children because of crimes their parents may or may not be about to commit!

\- It wouldn't stop Voldemort, and your brother would never have done it.

I had no idea who that brother was, but I instantly liked him a lot more than I did the barman. And I also suddenly felt a little bit more respect toward Harry Potter.

All those thoughts were quickly driven out of my mind, though, as the implication of what I'd just witnessed dawned on me: the evacuation point was through the Hog's Head, and if the barman was already in the castle, then the evacuation was over. And I had stayed behind!

That's when I really started panicking. The walls and ceiling shook with explosion after explosion, the air filling with dust as chunks of stone crumbled to the floor. Outside, flashes of green and red filled the night, closer and closer they came. And I stumbled around blindly, aimlessly zigzagging between people rushing in every direction.

I was thrown off my feet by unbearable shrieks, as Professor Sprout and a group of students, including Neville Longbottom, the 7th year that had spent the whole school year mouthing up to the Carrows, rushed by down the stairs, wearing earmuffs and carrying pots of bawling Mandragoras.

* * *

Despite my numbing panic and clumsy useless roaming, I was getting by relatively unharmed. At least until a really big man clad in dark robes and wearing a mask that, alone, made my blood run cold, climbed through a hole on the wall mere paces ahead of me, and started firing curses at everything that moved. I ducked behind an empty plinth just as a curly red head fell limp to the floor on the exact spot I had been a second before.

My horrified scream was lost among the clatter of the fight, as an animated suit of armour lunged at the man. When my paralysed brain regained its basic functions, it was to shout at me: "RUN! RUN! RUN!"

Shaking so much it was a miracle I could even stand on my feet, I stumbled and staggered, wondering where I could possibly go, who I could possibly turn to. Praying with all my heart that I had been right and my sister had got out and was now far, far away from that hell, I headed in the direction I'd seen Professor Sprout, the most familiar adult I'd seen last, go: down the stairs.

In each corridor I glanced, the scene was identical: people fighting, curses flying, hell broken loose.

On the second floor, a Death Eater who'd already lost his mask, but whose face was just as terrifying, came at me. Before I had even remembered I had a wand and that that was a good time to use it, another spell intercepted his before it reached me. I saw a Gryffindor boy, Parvati Patil and Lavander Brown, who'd clearly just freed themselves from another couple of Death Eaters writhing on the floor with their heads engulfed in Snargaluff worm-like tubers, engage my attacker in a fierce duel. I considered lending a hand, but with them all darting to and fro so much, there was a high risk I'd hit one of my schoolmates by mistake. So I resumed the original plan and darted down another floor.

Only to have another shock: one of Daphne's classmate's that I'd followed away from the evacuation point, I couldn't tell whether Crabbe or Goyle, laid either dead or unconscious, half-hidden inside a broom cupboard whose door seemed to have been blasted to smithereens.

\- I'm Draco Malfoy!

My head whipped around in the other direction, where another of those three seemed to be pleading with another masked Death Eater, at the top of the staircase to the Entrance Hall. Honestly, I'm not sure I'd have recognised him if I hadn't heard his name. His robes were singed and his pale skin and hair were covered in soot.

\- I'm Draco, I'm on your side!

Then, without warning or explanation, the masked Death Eater keeled over to the floor. Draco looked around, beaming, only to be also thrown backward on top of the man. He wasn't dead, though, because he was getting unsteadily to his feet, wiping the blood on his mouth, as I approached, warily.

\- What? – he spat bitterly at me – Want to see if I can get you in a worse state than this bloke here?

He indicated the unconscious Death Eater with a jerk of his pointy chin. I ignored his spitefulness, knowing very well it was his mother tongue. Well, second language, the first being haughtiness and boast.

\- Have you seen my sister? Did she get out?

\- Who the hell's your sister?

\- Daphne. Daphne Greengrass. – I replied, rather impatiently. – She's in your class.

\- Oh. Yeah, I think she got out.

I could have hugged him, I was so relieved.

\- What are you doing here? You're clearly underage. – he remarked, eyeing down his nose my dishevelled dark caramel pigtails, my clumsy juvenile attire and my short, skinny, childlike build, and probably deeming me about twelve. Just so we're clear, I was three months away from turning sixteen, at that time.

Before I could reply, however, a few curses flew mere inches away from where we stood. Apparently, some duel from upstairs was moving downward. Draco swore and pulled me brusquely after him, down the staircase to the Entrance Hall.

There, a lot of things happened almost all at the same time. There was a blast, and our House's hourglass, which records the points for the Inter-house Championship, was shattered and spilled emeralds everywhere. Draco and I slipped and fell on our bottoms, just as two bodies fell from the balcony overhead, mere paces ahead of us. I had just recognised one of them as Lavender and was making to go to her, when a blur like a four-legged animal lunged, ravaging her side with its teeth. My gasp of horror was drowned by a shrill "NO!" and a deafening blast coming somewhere from the apparently empty air ahead, and the hideous monster was thrown backward from a feebly stirring Lavender. I crawled my way to her, shaking worse than ever and not completely sure I wasn't going to hurl any moment now.

\- Lavender? – I asked, but I'm not sure she could hear me or even understand me, my voice was so cracked with horror.

\- I'm… c…cold…

Her hand was indeed icy as I took it.

\- It's going to be alright… Your dad will have you so well patched up, it will be like this little scratch never happened… - I babbled stupidly, racking my brains for some spell to help her, but as I produced my wand, all that occurred to me was – Petrificus Totalus.

She immediately froze up. The idea was: the Full Body-Bind freezes the entire body, so hopefully, it would freeze the bleeding as well and thus buy her some time until someone with more medical skills could attend to her.

I should probably make a parentheses here to explain my interaction with the older Gryffindor girl. You see, Lavender and the Patil twins were relatively frequent guests at my home, back when we were little, on account of their fathers being fellows of mine in the board of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Daphne used to be friends with them, having known them at least as long as she has Pansy. I distinctly remember Parvati sticking up for me during Daph's 9th birthday party, when Pansy didn't want me, the annoying little sister, to join their game of Exploding Snap.

The last time I saw them all together was aboard the Hogwarts Express, all waving from the window of the compartment they shared on their first trip to the school. I'm not sure exactly what happened for them to grow apart so quickly and completely, but I'd bet anything on how the Sorting played a big part in it.

Back to the story, I still hadn't recovered from the shock of the gruesome attack on Lavender, when I caught sight of another familiar face struggling. Sean was engaging a masked Death Eater by himself, some twenty yards away. Some inexplicable death wish must have come over me, because I started in his direction. Only to be intercepted by a curse that blasted me against the wall. Everything was black for a moment, and when my ears stopped ringing, a rather familiar drawling voice reached me:

\- … Malfoy, I'm one of you!

I struggled to my feet, leaning on the wall for support, just as Draco rolled back his left sleeve to shove his forearm under the other man's nose. The man still didn't seem convinced. Then saw me getting up and seemed about to strike again, when Draco said:

\- She's Slytherin and she's Pure-blood. She's with us.

\- Yeah? – the man sneered gruffly – Then why the Muggle t-shirt?

\- And what does it say about you that you recognise it? – I retorted, and even to my ears, I sounded like I was mentally disabled, my voice was so slurred.

I don't know where such boldness came from. Probably the blow to my head. Merlin knows it was still spinning like a tornado.

Meanwhile, my head still hadn't stopped swirling when I caught sight of Sean hitting the wall and slumping to the floor. Unlike me, however, he left a trail of blood on the wall, and didn't get up. I saw the Death Eater he'd been fighting turn abruptly at the sound of a loud bang.

The man Draco had been negotiating with turned, too. And I hit him with such a potent Stinging Hex that he seemed to swell up like a balloon, his skin stretched so thinly, it was ripping and leaking pus at some points, in a matter of seconds.

\- I'm not with you. – I hissed at Malfoy, my voice dripping with contempt.

But I don't think anyone heard me. Turns out the loud bang had been the front doors bursting open, and through them gigantic spiders were pouring in. Screams of terror filled the air, and Death Eaters and Hogwartians alike staggered and scrambled and shot spells after spells at the oncoming monsters. They shuddered and reared, more frightening than ever, but didn't stop coming.

In the pandemonium that ensued, I saw another couple of things that shook me to the core: I saw Hagrid, the enormous gamekeeper, disappearing whole, engulfed by the monstrous spiders. Harry Potter appeared out of thin air, shouting, and dashed after the monsters, as they swarmed back out of the doors with their prey buried in their midst. But worst of all, I saw the Death Eater who'd killed Sean trip and fall to the ground. She got up, having lost her mask, to reveal a face I would recognise anywhere: Lottie's mum.

The world around me was all a blur. With the spiders gone, the fighting recommenced, but I was rooted to the spot, my eyes locked on the impossibly familiar face. In a moment, her eyes met mine and widened. I took a few feeble steps backward as she set off striding in my direction. In a daze, I watched her approach me, watched her lips move and an echo of a once familiar voice reached me, but my brain couldn't register the meaning of her solicitous words. I watched her place one arm around me and start to guide me through the duelling mob toward the open front doors.

She pulled me briskly to the side, making me topple down the front steps, just as a flash of green light shot inches from where my head had been an instant before. I saw the Gryffindor boy from before and the monstrous Death Eater he was fighting with some difficulty coming through the front doors as well.

Crumpled on the ground at the foot of the castle, it appeared I was too numb to even think of moving. I saw Lottie's mum reach for me and be blasted backwards to the middle of the grounds, where she laid, unmoving, and Professor Lupin running, wand in hand, in my direction. His lips moved, I merely stared at him, probably like a Confounded troll looking at a N.E.W.T. exam paper. He went on to aid the Gryffindor boy with the monstrous Death Eater.

Then the earth quaked as a horrendous giant and what looked like a veritable titan clashed in mid-air. It was more than I could bear to process, the gargantuan monsters bulldozing everything in sight…

My legs must have moved of their own accord, because next thing I think I remember is stumbling around blindly, back inside the castle. The world around me was nothing but a blur. I heard the screams, the crashes, the blasts, as though from afar, like I was sinking underwater. No, not water. Something thicker and sticky that clung to me and smothered me. It was blood. My blood, the curly red head's blood, Lavender's blood, Sean's blood, Death Eaters' blood… All mixed together, all over me. I was covered in blood. I was drowning in it, in death.

* * *

At some point, I got the vague notion that I was being pulled by my arm, and steered through the chaos. Whether friend or foe, my brain was too numb to register, or even question. Moments later, my feet missed the floor, but a pair of firm hands steadied me before my face became acquainted with it instead. Steps. Then dark, cold walls.

After being half dragged, half stumbling down looming dark corridor after looming dark corridor in what appeared to me as an endless labyrinth of doom, I felt myself being settled onto a surprisingly comfortable surface.

Some distant part of me absently noticed the sudden quietness and a dancing light in front of me emanating waves of warmth that didn't reach me. I was cold to the bone, quaking from head to toe, taking shuddering breaths that didn't seem to reach my lungs, and emptying my incoherent brain in continuous blubbering and blabbering. A voice that wasn't mine had taken over my vocal chords to shriek:

\- He was eating Lavender! With his teeth! He was eating her! And the sp…spiders! And then Sean… he…his head cracked open! Mrs. Selwyn, she's… But I've had sleepovers at her house! And she'd bake scones! And… And… It just… It cracked open! It just… It just… And the giants… And I… I… I want to go home! I want to go home! I want to go home! I want…

A stinging hot pain shot across my cheek. I blinked a few times, completely stunned. Slowly, I realised the dancing light was a fire burning under a dark, ornate mantelpiece, the comfortable surface was a low-backed, dark-green, leather armchair, and the quiet room around me was the deserted Slytherin common room.

In front of me stood a tall, lean figure with a pointy pale face and blond hair smudged with soot and dust. Malfoy. My first reaction would be to hex him, but my wand was lying on the end table a couple of feet away. My second reaction would be to slap him back, but let's face it, he could probably break me in half with one hand. And then I acknowledged that my brain was lucid enough to at least regain some basic self-preservation instincts.

\- Thank you. – I said, my tone much closer to its normal frequency, now.

He nodded curtly at me and headed over to the nearest sofa, where I now noticed that a wide figure was lying, and beginning to stir. He grumbled low and Malfoy squatted down to speak to him, also in low tones. There was some whispering and grunting, I caught words like "Crabbe", "fire" and "Potter". Goyle sat up, he too covered in grime, and in another moment, got to his feet, howled, and set about stamping around like a gorilla, blasting random things.

He finally stopped when his eyes fell on me, his face scrunching in utter confusion.

\- Daphne's sister. – Malfoy informed from the other armchair closest to the fire, across from mine, where he had sat moments before, looking weary and old. Very much unlike the loud and boisterous Draco Malfoy who'd always make a point of getting every eye on him every time he pranced into that very room, as though he owned the place and the rest of us should feel eternally grateful for the privilege of beholding him. Eyeing me with cold grey eyes, he asked – What are you doing here, anyway?

\- You brought me here.

He made a noise of impatience and snapped irritably:

\- I know that! Why didn't you leave during the evacuation?

\- Why didn't you?

He shot me a ghost of his trademark sneer and fell silent. I curled up on my chair, hugged my knees tightly, and tried to focus on the simple crackling and dancing of the flames under the mantelpiece. But Lavender's and Sean's faces kept popping into my thoughts. Unbidden, little, insignificant memories I didn't know I still had played like a motion-picture in my mind.

Lavender and the Patil twins rolling on the floor laughing, after me and my toy broomstick zoomed straight into Daph's little tea party, scattering her new dancing mini tea set.

The girls all smiling and waving from the window of the train, as I ran alongside it, waving back and wishing for my time to board with them to come quickly.

My utter annoyance at the newly-arrived Professor Slughorn deciding, on the first lesson of my 4th year, that we'd learn better working in pairs. Unsurprisingly, I failed to find a suitable partner by myself, so he paired me with the muggleborn O'Leary. Sean hadn't been pleased with the predicament, either, but we were both a lot less reluctant about it when, at the end of the lesson, our Peace Draught was deemed the winner…

\- Oh my Merlin! I still have it!

Both Malfoy and Goyle snapped their heads in my direction, as I suddenly sprang to my feet and dashed to my dormitory. I returned a few minutes later, clutching in my hand a teeny tiny phial containing a teeny tiny amount of a pure golden liquid. I couldn't help wondering if Sean had even remembered his own phial. Maybe then he wouldn't have… But then, maybe he'd already spent all of it before that night. Certainly he could have used his little sample, and then some, getting by for all those months in hiding. If only he had stayed in hiding…

Malfoy looked at me slightly quizzically, but mostly bored. Goyle looked as I had always seen him look: clueless.

\- On the first Potions lesson, last year, Professor Slughorn offered a little prize to whoever brewed the best Peace Draught. – I told them, on approaching. I noticed Malfoy's expression become more interested – My partner and I won, and we each received one of these.

I showed them the tiny phial. Goyle's expression remained unchanged. Malfoy's eyes widened.

\- Felix Felicis! – he exclaimed, rather greedily – Liquid Luck! He offered it in our class, too!

Considering how he didn't immediately boast of it, I surmised he hadn't won it.

\- It's really not much, but I think, if we take only a couple of drops each…

They were both reaching out their hands for my precious little treasure before I'd even finished my sentence. I wondered if I shouldn't have taken it alone in the dormitory, before opening the game with them. Well, I did the next smartest thing and took the phial to my lips without another second's delay. Malfoy eagerly took it next. Then Goyle gulped down the last of it, and even stuck his tongue as far as he could inside the phial and wiggled it around pretty thoroughly. It was disturbing to see.

\- Oh, you can keep it! – I squealed when he made to give me back the empty, thoroughly Goyle-licked phial.

It ended up smashed on the floor, as we were all startled by the cold, high, clean voice from before blaring up again, all around us:

\- You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured. I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.

Silence. After a long moment, I broke it to whisper:

\- Does that mean it's over?

\- Hardly. – Malfoy snorted, bitterly.

Having been sheltered there in the deserted common room for a while now, and with the little excitement over the Felix Felicis, I had kind of given in to a false sense of security. Which had just been shattered. Panic was again welling up inside of me, and I ranted in a rather shrill voice:

\- What?! No! Why?! Why's he doing this?! He's going to kill us all just because of his obsession with the Potter boy?! What the hell?! This is crazy! This is just… He's… He's completely deranged!

\- Are you just realising that now? – Malfoy snapped at me.

He averted his frosty grey gaze from my wide-eyed blue one. I was! I mean, of course that, growing up in a wizarding family, I'd heard and been properly taught to fear the idea of You-Know-Who. But there's a very big difference between being instructed to fear something you've only heard about, and actually being confronted with its horror in the first person.

That's when I truly realised how incredibly lucky and privileged I had always been. Being a Pureblood from a fairly neutral family, I had always been very much safe, rather cloistered even, from the terror surrounding the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. Even though I technically knew there was a war, and that people were disappearing and that Muggle-borns were being rounded up, it was a somewhat distant reality that didn't reach me, or the people closest to me.

The changes that had taken place at Hogwarts that year, the Carrows and their overly-enthusiastic fondness for punishments, the empty chairs and tables of the people who were no longer allowed to come to school, that had been as much of the war as I'd been truly aware of. Compared to that, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was but a distant, vague, boogieman.

Until that night, that is.

\- … but we can't take the little girl…

Malfoy was talking to Goyle again in low tones, both with their backs to me, a little distance away. Goyle grunted something imperceptible in response, then Malfoy whispered again:

\- No, she did give us her Liquid Luck. We'll take her to the evacuation point. That might even prove useful…

\- You might be interested to know that the evacuation point is no longer viable.

They immediately turned back to me.

\- That's right, I'm not deaf! Also, I'm not a little girl. I have a name, you know.

They looked stupidly at each other, as though this was complete news to them.

\- Seriously? We've been in the same House for five years!

Their eyebrows got lost somewhere high up in their soot-and-dust-covered hair.

\- So, anyway – Malfoy went on, after a moment, now at least including me in the conversation – We have a little less than an hour to find out a way to get out of here.

For a long moment, we just stared between the three of us. Nothing. Then, surprisingly, Goyle was the one who came up with a suggestion, though only Malfoy was able to decode his grunt.

\- No, they've sealed them all at the beginning of the year, remember?

\- How about the lake? – I suggested – They might be guarding the entrances to the school grounds, but the boat house is directly under the castle. We can cross the lake, preferably while it's still dark outside, all the way to the most distant bank. That's miles away from Hogsmeade. We'll be safe there. Probably.

\- Yeah. Yeah, there might be something there. – Malfoy agreed thoughtfully – I reckon that might be your best chance.

\- My best…? Wait, aren't you coming?

They exchanged a look. And that's when I realised why they had stayed behind, why they would stay at all. I don't know why it still shocked me so much. I suppose it was just another example of how my brain had gone on strike that night, that it took me so long to process it.

\- You're going to join him! You really are one of them!

\- Don't you get it? We've got no choice! – Malfoy cried, angrily – He's won! It's either be one of them or be killed!

Then something about my expression or my staggering feebly backward away from him made him tone down the aggressiveness. Tentatively reaching a hand in my direction, he coaxed in a milder tone:

\- C'mon, we'll take you to the boat house.

I didn't move.

\- If I wanted to hurt you, don't you think I would have done, by now?

I kept some distance, as I followed them out of the dungeons and into the Entrance Hall. Everything was quiet. Eerily quiet. And the sight was devastating. The flagstones were stained with blood. Emeralds, splintered wood and broken marble were scattered everywhere. Significant part of the banisters had been blown or ripped away.

The only signs of life came from the Great Hall. Chancing a look inside, I found that the House tables were gone. People huddled in little groups, crying, comforting each other. Madam Pomfrey, the matron, bustled about upon the raised platform at the front, attending to the injured with a few helpers. In the middle, the dead were being laid in a row. I didn't want to look, but at the same time, I just had to. A distinctive group of red heads huddled together, crying and whimpering near one point along that line. One of the Weasleys had fallen, then. I saw them shuffle and renew their tears as another body was placed beside where they stood. Professor Lupin. Closer down the line, the Hufflepuff girl who'd covered for me earlier in the year, when I'd stupidly told Ms. Carrow I didn't understand how it could be possible for muggle-borns to have stolen their magic. And then a Ravenclaw I'd met once on the train. And on it went, down the growing line. The more I looked, the more it saddened me to see more and more faces I'd crossed paths with at one time or another during the previous five years.

\- C'mon, now. – Malfoy murmured, gently nudging me forward.

I didn't move. I realised the moist that had been pooling in my eyes was slowly leaking down my face. Hastily wiping it with the back of my hand, I shook my head.

\- We've got to go. C'mon.

I swallowed and heard myself say quietly:

\- I'm staying.

He sighed deeply. Then pulled me briskly away so that I no longer had a view into the Great Hall, placed his hands on my shoulders and, holding my gaze with pale grey eyes, not cold and guarded, but awaken with a storm of bitterness, wretchedness and despair, he hissed:

\- There's nothing to stay for. On either side. Go. You still have the chance to leave, take it. Get away from here! As far as you can. Take your sister, take your parents, take everyone you can, and go!

Tears were rolling down my face again. I clutched his sleeves and continued to hold his tortured gaze. I wanted to tell him he could go, too. That he didn't have to be what they wanted to make of him, but even as I thought it, I knew that it was such a hopelessly naïve thing to say.

So I did what I always do. I stood stubborn as an old mule and refused to go.

* * *

When the cold high voice spoke again, I was up at the raised platform at the front of the great Hall, bandaging the stump that was all that was left of a man's hand. Draco was beside me, handing me the supplies and keeping the delirious man restrained.

For a while after I'd dashed into the Hall, I'd lost sight of him and assumed he'd left to join the Death Eaters. Then I'd caught sight of the lumbering figure of Goyle half dragging, half carrying in an unconscious Professor Vector, of Arithmancy, and the tall, pale figure of Malfoy bringing in the rear, pretending to lift up her feet, but mostly just giving the other orders.

\- Harry Potter is dead. – the evil voice announced.

There were cries and howls all around the Hall. I found that a little bit of something that had apparently budded inside of me without my notice shrivelled in that moment. I met Draco's eye and he looked as hopeless as I felt.

\- He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.

Wow, some hero!, I remember thinking, and it must have been evident on my face, or I must have otherwise expressed it, because my Housemate affirmed:

\- He's lying.

\- How do you know?

\- Because it's Potter.

At the time, I didn't make sense of the retort, nor of the tone in which he'd said it. Later, I would learn that his sentiments toward Potter, whom he'd made his arch-rival out of spite and jealousy, were boiling down to something akin to grudging gratefulness and respect. Just don't tell him I said that.

Anyway, the walls kept resounding in that dreadful voice:

\- … There must be no more war. Anybody who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.

We followed the defeated crowd that trudged to the front steps to see the victorious Death Eaters standing in a vast line, facing us with leers and jeers. In front of them was the most gruesome man, if one could even call him a man, that I ever laid eyes on. It was like seeing Evil incarnate. My whole body froze at the sight: pale and skeletal as death and a face like a snake's, with a flat slitted nose and horrendous scarlet slitted eyes.

And mere paces behind him stood a weeping Hagrid, holding in his arms the limp, lifeless body of Harry Potter.

Professor McGonagall let out an agonising scream. Potter's friends followed suit. Among the Death Eaters, a demented-looking woman broke in a maniacal laughter that sent shivers down my back and thoughts of little baby unicorns being skinned alive up to my head. The crowd around me erupted in indignant shouts and screams, throwing insults at the Death Eaters.

\- SILENCE!

I swear I jumped out of my skin at the loud bang that quietened the crowd at once. Much more peremptory than any time the Carrows had ever done, I might add. Damn, the man was frightening!

He had Hagrid set the boy's body at his feet and went on to disdain and sneer of him, but was interrupted by a defiant shout of "He beat you!" and another insurgent wave of shouts and insults from the crowd. Though predictable, the second silencing bang was in no way less disconcerting than the first. He was again going on about how Potter had been trying to run away, when someone broke from the crowd and, with a furious war cry, charged at him like a rabid rhinoceros. Neville Longbottom was lying on the floor wandless in half a blink of an eye.

But he wasn't dead. In fact, he got to his feet and went in for more. Long story short, he made a very bold, very fierce stand to You-Know-Who, which led on to the Sorting Hat being stuck down his head and set on fire. It was more than I could bear to watch. My mind went blank and my knees gave in at the horror of the sight.

I must've been out for about a minute, but when I came to, chaos was reigning once more. The first thing I felt was a sharp blow to my elbow, where it apparently had just slammed against the door frame. This was because I seemed to have been thrown over someone's shoulder and was now being carried back inside the castle with the uproarious throng.

As I struggled to lift my head, I caught sight of a herd of centaurs charging and showering hundreds of arrows toward the scattering Death Eaters' ranks. A couple of giants were covering their faces and swatting around with their hands, as though they were being poked by invisible flying creatures that, in hindsight, I suppose were probably the thestrals. And everybody was retreating back inside the castle.

Inches from my face, was the tall blond head of Draco Malfoy, swinging like a frantic pendulum from side to side, while he walked almost completely backwards, keeping one hand on my transporter's empty shoulder, and repeated feverishly:

\- I can't see them! I can't see them!

As Goyle pushed, punched and elbowed his way to the Great Hall, and the doors to the kitchens blasted open to pour out a herd of house-elves armed with knives and ice-picks, I caught sight of Professor Slughorn crossing the threshold into the castle, heading a crowd of fresh reinforcements. Among them I recognised Madam Rosmerta, the landlady from the Three Broomsticks inn; a few more shopkeepers from Hogsmeade; relatives of students, like Mr. Patil and…

\- Dad! DADDY! DAPHNE!

They couldn't hear me above the racket all around, and I was being steadily carried away, and they were disappearing among the crowd, and fighting was recommencing everywhere inside…

\- SET ME DOWN! SET ME DOWN!

I shrieked and thrashed my way back to my own two feet and, for once thanking my small size, I wriggled my way through the crowd.

Curses flew all around me, some missing me by mere inches, as I zigzagged between the duels after glimpses of my sister's or my father's heads. Thank Merlin, or rather, thank Professor Slughorn and Sean O'Leary and whoever invented Liquid Luck, for the teeny tiny phial of the precious potion that probably saved my life!

I saw one of the Weasley twins with his friend and former Quidditch commentator, Lee Jordan, slam a burly Death Eater to the ground; saw Professor Flitwick strike down the monstrous man that I'd seen Professor Lupin rush in to help the Gryffindor boy fight; saw Longbottom and the Weasley in my sister's year take down the beastly man that had bitten Lavender, and finally came upon my own sister and Padma Patil engaged in a duel with a bulky, vicious-looking blond man.

I don't remember even thinking about it. A serpentine flash of light shot out of my wand and struck across the man's face like a whip. The moment it took him to recover from the shock and take one hand to his rapidly swelling eye and cheek was all Daph and Padma needed to finish him off with a couple of well-placed Stunners.

I flew to my sister, almost knocked her to the ground throwing my arms, and basically my whole person, around her, and broke into a pitiful display of sobbing, sniffling, slobbering and blabbering:

\- I'm sorry! (sob) I'm so (sniff) sorry, Daph, (sniff) I didn't mean it! (sob) I do need you! (sob) I don't know what I would do without you! (sniff) I don't want you to ever leave me! (sob) You're the best big sister anyone could ever have and (sniff) I love you! (sniff, sniff, sob, etc)

\- Oh dear Merlin, Tori! – Daphne cried, rather shrilly, holding me back tightly, while Padma hung a little behind, looking uncomfortably around, probably trying to spot another Death Eater to distract her from our overly emotional reunion – I saw you in the evacuation line with Charlotte when Theo made me go right after Pansy! How come…

But her sisterly reprimand was cut short when we were both roughly pushed aside by a fierce-looking Mamma Weasley, running at the maniac woman Death Eater, shouting:

\- NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!

The Weasley girl, the smart muggle-born Granger and Looney Lovegood, all three of whom had been duelling the woman, were pushed aside as Mamma Weasley took over.

Well, I'm sure you've all read and reread various detailed accounts of what followed and how that dreadful night ended. You all must have heard about Mamma Weasley's rather miraculous defeat of that last, particularly fierce and dedicated Death Eater. And, of course, of Harry Potter's even more miraculous return from the dead, appearing out of thin air in the middle of the Hall to boldly defy and, after a rather lengthy prowling around each other in circles uttering a series of revelations about Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape and something about an Elder Wand from a children's fairy tale, take down of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

I'm sure you've all heard how everybody screamed and cheered and roared in celebration, how the Death Eaters and their allies were all shortly tracked down, rounded up and safely put away, and how everything was all peace and tolerance and happiness from then on.

Well, that's because, as you know, history is told by the victors. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to dismiss all the fallen heroes that lost their lives fighting for such a future, or the pain and grief of their loved ones. And of course I was glad that it was over, that Hogwarts and the wizarding world were free from the control of people like the Carrows and the Dark Lord. But, there it is, it was a time of either Dark or Light, Good or Evil, Black or White. So let me tell you what it was like for those of us stuck in the greys.

* * *

**A/N: I apologise for the long chapter, but breaking it simply didn't feel right to me. Hopefully, the pace was sufficiently flowed for the reading not to become too tiresome. I hope you enjoyed it, if you would like to share any thoughts about it, they'd be much welcome. :)**


	3. Chapter 2 - Summer

**A/N: Thank you for reading, reviewing, following and favouriting :) You may have noticed I've changed the name of the story. I'm still a bit undecided on the title, so if you have any suggestions, they'd be most welcome.**

**Here's the new chapter, hope you enjoy. And, of course, any feedback is most welcome as well. Good reads, everyone XD**

* * *

**Chapter**** 2**

A whole month went by before I brought myself to leave my bedroom. Makes a lot of sense, doesn't it? I mean, I'd practically breezed through the war, hardly noticing it raging on all around, and only when it was all over did I choose to get scared out of my wit and barricade myself in my room. Anyway, I think we've already ascertained that my brain had been at odds with rational thought around that time.

The thing was, I spent the nights screaming my lungs out and thrashing and kicking at invisible masked men and giant spiders and titanic giants and snake-faced monsters that no longer existed anywhere but in my head. And then I'd spend the days curled up in bed, pretending to make up for my sleepless nights, but mostly just too tired and too moody and too apathetic to even want to get up.

Of course my parents tried to shower me in potions and remedies, from Dreamless Sleep Potion, to Calming Draughts, to Vitamix Potion, you name it. My dad brought the best healers from the hospital to see me, but I wouldn't let them in. I didn't want to see anybody.

They didn't understand. I didn't need them to tell me everything was alright now and that it was all a bad dream. I already knew that! In theory. It was my subconscious that didn't seem to have got the memo.

And I didn't need their potions and their remedies! Those were for sick people, for people who had actually done something, people who had got injured and hurt and needed to heal. Not for people who had basically stumbled around stupidly, watching children like myself, with their whole lives ahead of them, become warriors and getting killed, and nice, sweet mothers, who'd bake scones and sang their children lullabies to sleep, become ruthless killers.

Anyway, so after over a month, I finally emerged from my cave. It happened one evening, when I was raised from another of my morbid slumbers that were as close to sleep as I got, by shouting and screaming and crying. I bolted off of my bed like the house was being attacked by an army of a thousand giants. Which, in my disturbed and newly-awaken macabre imagination, was only the first of a myriad of apocalyptic scenarios that crossed my mind in the short seconds that took me to cross the corridor and storm into my sister's room.

The scene I met inside was not yet so violent, but almost as apocalyptic. The flowery curtains were bulging in the draft, as the window was wide open. And so, I noticed, were the wardrobe doors, allowing full view into the empty racks and clothes hangers inside. A packed travelling trunk stood ready beside the open window, and next to it, stood my sister, with desperate tears pouring from her stormy blue eyes and splashing down the front of her travelling cloak.

\- Please, Father! You have to let me go! – she cried imploringly, while my father gripped her arms tightly – Please, they're going to send him to Azkaban! I can't live without him, Dad, I love him!

\- No daughter of mine is going to run away with a criminal! – my father bellowed, apoplectic.

\- He hasn't done anything! He's barely had his Dark Mark for six months, and only got it because of his father! Please! Mum! Mum, I love him!

But my mother, who was crying almost as desperately as my sister, let out a sob and averted her eyes from Daphne's pleading ones. And that's when she saw me.

\- Tori! – she cried, and darted toward me with renewed tears rolling down her face, as though I'd just awakened from the dead.

My sister and my father at once turned to me in surprise, my sudden reappearance among civilised society effectively interrupting their row.

You can imagine what happened next. After much tight embracing, and their repeatedly telling me what a brave young lady I was and that they all loved me very very much, my parents marched me to the kitchen and all but force-fed me a banquet of a supper that could have sustained an entire Quidditch team through the whole season.

My sister attempted to take advantage of my parents fussing over me to make her escape. Which led to a deafening alarm being set off and the gardens and grounds all around the house being bathed in light, like a hundred floodlights alighting around a Quidditch pitch. It seemed Dad had anticipated her move and placed a Caterwauling Charm around the house.

That night, it was Daphne's turn to barricade herself in her room, bawling her eyes out onto her pillow. I tried knocking on her door, but I already knew the answer before she barked from within a forceful "Go away!"

The days that followed were tense, gloomy ones. My Dad was drowning in work at the hospital, with all the patients the war had brought in. There was talk of extending the long-term residence ward and of adding a whole new one specialised in Dark Arts-related injuries and impairments.

My sister was now taking a leaf off my book and locking herself in her room all day. Or maybe she'd been doing that for a while too, and I just hadn't noticed because I'd been in my own cocoon myself. Either way, her self-imposed imprisonment finally forced me to fight mine. My mother's heart was already breaking, I couldn't be so cruel as to deprive her of both her daughters.

So I dragged myself out of the bed in the mornings. And sat at the table for meals with what I hope was a good imitation of a strong, healthy, well-rested smile. And forced myself to hang around the sitting room or the drawing room or the garden or at least not to rush back up to my room right away. And I shook off the ever present faces of Sean, and Lavender, and Mrs. Selwyn, and Professor Lupin, and all the others that seemed etched in blood in every corner of my mind. And I kept reassuring everyone that, yes, everything was alright now, that it was all a bad dream.

Three days into the farce, I was lounging on my favourite sofa in the drawing room, trying to pour the images that kept assaulting my head onto my sketch pad, when the fire under the mantelpiece burned bright green. From it stepped Pansy Parkinson.

\- Where is she? – she asked without preamble.

\- In her bedroom.

She set off toward the foyer and then up the stairs, finding her way probably as easily as in her own home. I followed.

\- Daph, it's me, let me in. – Pansy announced, knocking on the locked door.

\- What are you doing here?

Well, that would be my doing. When all my endeavours to get my sister to come out and sort things out with our parents had failed, I'd called for reinforcement. It was a risk, I knew. You see, despite their declared best friends status and oaths of inseparability and all that, I had always perceived my sister's and Pansy's friendship as a bit of a love-hate relationship in disguise.

It wasn't uncommon for them to be parading arm in arm one moment, laughing together at one of Pansy's rather scathing remarks or sharing each other's possessions in a way Daphne never did with even me, only to be at each other's throats the next, screeching the meanest insults they could think of, and turning each other's hair the most hideous colours possible.

This time, however, hairstyle profanities didn't seem to be in order, at least not yet, so we both heard the door unlock. After a decent interval of proud suspense, that is.

\- I got this. – Pansy said to me when I made to go in after her – You can go back to your little drawings, now.

And she closed the door on my face. In my own house.

I glared at the door and greeted my teeth. And then, more out of defiance than anything else, I went into my bedroom, produced my pair of Extendable-Ears from inside a drawer, sent one end across the corridor and sat on my bed, listening into the other. I have to hand it to those Weasley twins, their products really do come in handy!

\- … would you go? What would you live off? – came Pansy's rather sneering voice, though I have to admit her argument was reasonable.

\- We were thinking of Greece. Or the United States, that would be easier because of the language. And Theo's got loads of money.

\- Not if he runs, he doesn't. That's as good as pleading guilty, they'll seize all his property.

\- I'll go homeless! I don't care!

\- Don't be stupid, Daphne! – Pansy snapped, irritably – His best chance is to stay put and hope for a light sentence, you know that! He'll probably get it, too. They've got bigger fish to fry…

\- A light sentence?! – Daphne shrieked – His father's been on You-Know-Who's side from the beginning! And Theo would die before he gave his father away! They'll punish him for the both of them!

\- Well then maybe the old man will turn himself in to spare his son, I don't know!

There was a moment of silence, probably while Daphne pondered this argument. Then she asked quietly:

\- What if he doesn't? Then Theo will still lose everything and even go to Azkaban! I can't take that risk!

\- Well, it's not yours to take! – Pansy countered bluntly – He's the one on the line here, there's no point in you throwing away everything you have, as well!

Daphne gasped.

\- I'm sorry, Daph, but it's true! You don't owe him anything. Just because he's going down, doesn't mean you have to go down with him.

\- We're in love!

\- If he really loved you, he wouldn't want you to give up your whole life for him!

So far, I had to admit Pansy was making the fairest points in this argument. I would probably have said the exact same things, if Daphne had given me the chance to hear her out and talk it over.

And then I'd probably also be the one she went on to shriek at:

\- HOW DARE YOU?! Just because you don't understand… Because you don't know what it's like…

\- Oh, don't I?

\- No, you don't! It doesn't even compare! Draco never loved you!

It was Pansy's turn to draw in a breath. And Daphne went on, angrily returning her words:

\- I'm sorry, Pans, but it's true! He used you whenever he felt like it and then kicked you to the side when he was done! Again and again! That's not love. He made a fool out of you, that's what he did!

\- Well, at least not enough of a fool to go running after him to Azkaban! – Pansy spat coldly.

There were a few moments of heavy silence, then Daphe whimpered feebly, and I could picture her eyes brimming with tears. Pansy spoke quietly with a sigh:

\- Look, Daph...

\- No, I'm sorry, Pans. I didn't mean…

\- No, I know you are right. But so am I, Daph, you know that. They made their choices and now ended up on the losing side. It's time to let them go.

\- I can't…

\- Yes, you can. Think of your parents, think of your little sister. Think of me. You still have us. Think of what you would be doing to all of us by throwing your life away like that!

Daphne didn't lock her door that night. I knocked on it lightly and when she didn't send me away, I went in and crawled into bed beside her. She was crying silently. I wrapped one arm around her and rested my head on her shoulder. None of us said a word. After a moment, I felt her gently stroking my hair.

* * *

About a couple of weeks later, I found myself seated at a bench in a wide, dimly-lit underground room. All around were rows and rows of benches rising in levels, occupied by severe-looking witches and wizards looking down at the chair in the very centre of the room.

There sat a stooping old man with greasy hair that the stern-looking wizard standing in the middle of the front row bench, behind something like a pulpit, was addressing as Borgin. Apparently, Borgin ran a shop specialised in the Dark Arts and was accused of supplying and aiding You-Know-Who's supporters even before he'd taken over.

The stern-looking spokeswizard, Mr. Aldred Wiseman, the newly-appointed successor of Professor Dumbledore as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, proffered his verdict, which I didn't quite catch. The jury voted, and Borgin left the room.

The heavy silence was broken for a few minutes, while people all around the room turned on their seats to whisper and confer with those around them. I looked over to my sister, sitting quiet and stony-faced by my side.

You're probably wondering what on earth the two of us were doing in a court room during war trials. Well, basically, nothing could possibly have kept Daphne away that day, and I'd managed to convince my parents to let me come along for moral support.

Shortly, the door on the corner of the room opened and in came three people. I instantly recognised the tall, blond, younger man who looked nervously around the forbidding-looking room as Draco Malfoy. I noticed his pale brows rise slightly as his eyes passed the place where we were sitting and I sent him a small encouraging smile.

The people by his side were the man and the woman whom I'd last seen him with at the end of the battle, and whom I surmised to be his parents. The three of them took the three chairs that now stood in the centre, the room fell silent and the Chief Warlock begun:

\- Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, you have been brought here in front of the Council of Magical Law and the Wizengamot to answer charges relating to the activities of the organisation known as the Death Eaters. We have reviewed the evidence against each of you. – Mr. Wiseman spoke in his calm but commanding voice, glancing over the heavy file in front of him, and then regarding each of the accused in turn – Is there anything you would like to add before we proceed?

Lucius Malfoy spoke in a drawling voice that, somehow, managed to be both ingratiating and still rather lofty at the same time:

\- I wish to say, Sir, in my behalf and in my wife's and son's as well, that we truly have seen the error of our ways and we reaffirm our full support of the Ministry.

Draco and his mother nodded solemnly in agreement, and Mr. Malfoy went on:

\- We are wholeheartedly committed to our cooperation with the Auror Office in the apprehension of escaped supporters of the Dark Lord, and we are eager to assist the Ministry in any way that we can.

A bit of buzzing was breaking out around the room at this point. I caught disdainful snorts, angry wheezes and rather scornful whispers all around me. I'm sure the Malfoys noticed them, too, though they were determinedly not acknowledging them. Mrs. Malfoy remained seated elegantly upright in her chair, with her head held high and her pale blue eyes fixed on the figure of her judge. Mr. Malfoy maintained his snobbish solicitous demeanour. Only Draco seemed to be needing a little more effort to hold his pose, and kept evidently averting his eyes from everyone in the room, instead keeping them mostly on his knees.

\- And I understand you have a witness to your defence, - Mr. Wiseman said, also seemingly oblivious to the crowd's reaction - whom has provided evidence to this Council of your defection from Lord Voldemort.

Unsurprisingly, many among the present, myself included, involuntarily winced at the name. And then everyone followed the judge's eyes to the black-haired, bespectacled young man sat at one of the middle benches near a corner of the room. Harry Potter got to his feet rather awkwardly, having evidently been trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, and said:

\- Er… Yes, I attest that they changed sides during the final battle.

Some more whispering ensued, perhaps in a slightly less doubtful tone, though every bit as resentful, contemptuous and mordacious as before.

\- Very well, - Mr. Wiseman went on – we will now pronounce the verdict for each of you.

He looked first to Mr. Malfoy and uttered:

\- Lucius Malfoy, you stand accused of having been a member of the organisation known as the Death Eaters, partaking in attacks against members of the resistance. You seem, however, to have forego taking arms during the attack against Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I suggest a term of home detention lasting no less than six years. The jury will please raise their hands… those in favour…

There were angry outcries and unsatisfied shaking of heads all around, as a small majority of jurors slowly lifted their hands.

\- Narcissa Malfoy, - Mr. Wiseman proceeded, raising his voice above the noise from the crowd – you stand accused of assisting the organisation known as the Death Eaters. You have, however, renege their master in favour of Harry Potter during the final battle. I suggest that your crimes be forgiven. Those in favour…

It seemed a pretty tight vote, but in the end the small majority decided in favour of the suggestion. Another wave of protests arose from the crowd. Mr. Wiseman was forced to raise his voice again to continue:

\- Draco Malfoy, - Draco's eyes seemed to close momentarily in silent prayer – you stand accused of having been a member of the organisation known as the Death Eaters, conspiring to the assassination of the leader of the resistance, Albus Dumbledore…

At this, there were gasps and cries from the all around the room. I myself was completely appalled at the revelation. I mean, first my oldest friend's mother kills my fifteen-year-old Potions partner, and now a schoolmate of five years, my sister's best friend's on-again off-again boyfriend, the boy who'd actively looked out for me during that dreadful night, turns out to be a killer, or at least, an aspiring killer, as well!

\- … and of assisting in the torture of captives of said organisation…

It was just too much. I couldn't wrap my head around it. I mean, he had stayed with me, helping with the wounded, after the Dark Lord's final ultimatum! I'd seen him pale and nearly faint at the sight of some of the injuries we'd come across!

\- However…

Such was the clamour around the room that Mr. Wiseman was forced to positively shout:

\- Silence, please! However, we have received evidence that you were coerced under threat to yours and your family's lives, and that you have, to some extent, assisted the resistance during the final battle. For this, I suggest that your crimes be forgiven. Those in favour…

There seemed to be a lot of hesitation and indecision among the jury, this time. More than a few hands vacillated between up and down, and the counting of the votes had to be restarted a couple of times.

You see, when Daphne had expressed concern for Theo being punished for his escaped father's crimes, I confess I didn't take her very seriously. I mean, any impartial juror would realise that, at seventeen/eighteen years of age, he could hardly be expected to defy his father's ruthless, tyrannical allies, knowing very well the consequences that would surely befall him if he did. We can't all be Harry Potters and Neville Longbottoms, after all, but that doesn't mean we're all Carrows, either, right?

Now, watching the Malfoys' trial, I couldn't help thinking that the reason why a frightened, threatened, wavering teenage boy was being shown this little leniency from the voters was because they were not completely satisfied with his parents' sentences.

Clearly, my first miscalculation had been assuming they would be facing an impartial jury. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to suggest that the Council members had been illicitly swayed one way or the other! And, to be fair, I thought Mr. Wiseman was being very reasonable with the penalties. But, wise and upright Law experts as I don't doubt the jurors were, they were, first and foremost, people. People who'd just been through a horrible war; people who'd probably had friends and relatives being persecuted and subjected to horrific ordeals; people who, perhaps, like me, still woke up in the middle of the night with thoughts of vicious masked men barging through the door and tearing down their home…

Anyway, finally, the decision was reached by a difference of merely two votes: Draco was forgiven. Well, legally, at least.

The Malfoys were escorted out of the room, under a shower of angry boos, whoops, hisses and hoots.

\- How many of the Wizengamot do you have in your pocket, Malfoy?!

\- Did anyone check to see if they'd Imperiused the Council?

\- Who did your wife have to screw to get you off, Malfoy?!

\- Slimy scum, you'll get what you deserve sooner or later!

The crowd still wasn't completely quiet by the time the next defendants were brought in. There were three of them, one of whom I recognised as the man Professor Lupin had rushed to help the Gryffindor boy fight, and that later had been defeated by Professor Flitwick. Mr. Wiseman addressed him as Antonin Dolohov. The other two were brothers, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange.

This time, there were no attenuating circumstances, nor did they seem at all regretful of their allegiances. The jury was unanimous in sending them to Azkaban for life, and the ensuing outrage from the crowd was directed at the convicts' deeds and not at their sentences.

After those, another man was brought in. His face was poignantly familiar, but it was a stranger that sat now in that lone chair in the centre of the room. Because I couldn't conceive that a man who'd sat in my drawing room telling stories of his and my father's days at Hogwarts, who'd convinced my parents to take me along to a Weird Sisters concert when I was barely ten years-old, who'd attended with us the Quidditch World Cup final four years before, could possibly be the Death Eater now being tried before my eyes.

Well, actually, in hindsight, I suppose it explains why he was nowhere to be seen during the Death Eaters riot that took place after the match. Of course, getting lost in a panic-struck crowd is a perfectly plausible explanation, too, though it is, I now realised, hardly an alibi.

\- Gerard Selwyn, you stand accused of being a member of the organisation known as the Death Eaters; of passing confidential information from the Ministry to said organisation, and of applying coercive methods including, but not limited to, the Imperius and the Cruciatus Curses on Ministry Officials, thus actively contributing to the overthrow of Minister for Magic Rufus Scrimgeour and the establishment of Lord Voldemort's regime. You are further accused of crimes of intolerance against Muggles and Muggle-borns throughout the duration of said regime. We are about to pass judgement, is there anything you would like to add before we reach a verdict?

Mr. Selwyn, who had been sitting completely immobile, with his eyes fixed on the pulpit ahead, merely shook his head almost imperceptibly.

\- In that case, for these crimes, I suggest a term of imprisonment in Azkaban lasting no less than twenty-five years. All those in favour…

The right-hand side of the room unanimously raised their hands. There was a heart-wrenching sob from the seat beside me as the man was escorted away by a couple of Aurors. And then he weeping girl pushed and stumbled her way down the benches and shot out the door, wailing desperately.

I managed to reach her on the corridor outside, just as two security wizards were drawing their wands out and placing themselves between her and the two Aurors and their prisoner.

\- Don't hurt her! – I cried to them – She's just upset!

But even as I said so, trying to hold her back myself, she kept thrashing and bawling and howling:

\- NOOO! Please! DAD! DAD! Don't leave me! Please!

And, on the other side of the guards, Mr. Selwyn seemed to also be struggling with the Aurors.

\- Charlotte! – he cried, as they kept forcibly dragging him away - Charlotte!

\- Miss, please stop resisting or we will have to use force. – one of the guards warned, which prompted Mr. Selwyn to double his own resistance, snarling fiercely:

\- Don't you dare touch my daughter, you filth!

He let out a strangled cry, as one of the Aurors somehow made him lurch violently back and the other promptly pointed the wand straight at his chest. Lottie yelped and broke in desperate sobs.

\- Please, Sir, have a heart! – I pleaded, looking from one Auror to the other – If you'd just give them a minute… Don't do it for him, do it for this girl, who's committed no crime…

The four officials hesitated and then, after exchanging looks between them, acceded. The two guards retreated to their posts and the two Aurors allowed Lottie to approach. I looked away so as to give them some figment of privacy.

After a few minutes, the Aurors signalled and father and daughter were forced to part. Lottie slumped to her knees, weeping silently, while Mr. Selwyn was taken away. Much more compliantly, I might add.

I kneeled on the floor beside the desolate girl and, rather awkwardly, placed my arms around her shuddering frame.

\- I've lost everyone! – Lottie eventually whimpered into her hands, after long minutes of wordless crying – I'm all alone! All alone in the world!

I found myself, little as I was, rocking back and forth, practically cradling the older, taller, stronger girl in my skinny arms.

\- No, you're not. – I said in the steadiest tone I could muster, though my eyes were being assaulted by completely unwarranted tears – You have me.

* * *

When I sat quietly back on my seat beside Daphne, she had gnawed at her fingernails down to the quick, to the point of drawing blood. Her eyes were fixed on the weedy, olive-skinned boy sat hard-faced on the chair at the centre.

\- Then you firmly refuse to divulge his whereabouts? – Mr. Wiseman was asking him gravely, above the whispers of the crowd.

\- Yes, Sir, I do.

Daphne whimpered.

\- Very well. – the judge replied, and I thought it might have been a hint of regret, as well as disappointment, that I heard in his tone – Theodore Nott Jr., we have reviewed the evidence against you. You stand accused of being a member of the organisation known as the Death Eaters, of assisting the escape of fellow Death Eaters, and of obstruction of Justice.

Theo listened to the charges against him with an impassive look on his face. Mr. Wiseman went on:

\- Perhaps you need a little time to rethink your position. You shall be subjected to formal interrogation within three weeks' time. On the grounds of flight risk, I determine you shall await your audience in Azkaban.

My sister crumbled in tears beside me. Theo merely stood up stoically, like someone who'd been bracing themselves for damnation for a while now, and silently accompanied the two Aurors that were leading him out the door.

Before he disappeared from view, however, he looked back. His eyes met Daph's in such intense, intimate communication, that I felt I was intruding in their most private moment and had to look away.

Okay, so I have a confession to make here. I did feel a twinge of jealousy at that moment. Which is completely and certifiably mental, bizarre, twisted and unacceptable, I know.

I don't know how to explain it, really. I mean, I wanted nothing more than for my sister not to have to feel such sorrow, such heartache. But, at the same time, there was a tiny little, inane part of me who couldn't help looking at the two of them rather wistfully. How heartless and silly was that, right?

* * *

You can imagine that, if those previous weeks had been gloomy, the ones that followed were absolutely funereal. The whole rest of the summer was a bit, to be honest.

Lottie moved in to one of our guest rooms for the remainder of the holidays. This would normally have meant lightsome conviviality, but not under the present circumstances.

Mum and Dad had agreed that she should not stay all alone at her family's now empty house. And I'm sure they would have adopted her officially, if she hadn't been a near-adult, about to turn 17 in November.

Daphne spent most of her time in her room. One might have thought she was the one locked behind bars, by the way she sat for hours on end looking out the window with a forlorn expression. I suppose she could have been scanning the sky for owls, but I'm not familiar with mail policy at Azkaban. I'd certainly caught her writing a lot, though.

Dad was completely swamped at the hospital, but Mum took the rest of the summer off to be with us. She kept encouraging us to go out and do stuff, and dragging us to Diagon Alley for shopping sprees, or to inns all around the country to dine out, or to any event and activity she could think of, really.

She even tried to convince us to go see Lorcan d'Eath, the part-vampire music sensation that had been making witches' hearts across the continent throb, live at the Wandstock Festival. But Daphne and Lottie vehemently drew the line at "suffering through three hours of loud attempts at music in the middle of a flock of screaming hormonal witches", as my sister put it.

Mum's idea had its merits, though. I realised that on the busiest, most tiresome days, the nightmares were less frequent. So I tried to go along with it and get Lottie and Daph to join me for a bit of Quidditch out on the garden, but neither of them were overly enthusiastic about the sport. They did accede, rather grudgingly, whenever our little cousin came to visit and managed to be even more persistent about it than me.

Pansy also dropped by every now and again, along with the rest of the gang. They usually joined Daph up in her room and sat around, downing Firewhisky that Tracey snuck in behind my Mum's back, wailing about their dramas and ranting at the general injustice of the world. I normally just kept Mum, and myself, out of their way on those occasions. It wasn't really my kind of party. Not that me or Lottie were likely to get invited, anyway.

Speaking of party, fortunately, I managed to dissuade Mum of her original plans for my sixteenth birthday. Which were nothing short of a ball! I'm not sure whether this was still part of her plan to keep us distracted and entertained, or whether she was still trying to punish me for evading the one she'd thrown in celebration of my sister reaching adulthood. Either way, I say, if it is my birthday, I reserve the right not to be made to dance, especially not in dress robes and uncomfortable footwear!

I didn't, however, manage to avoid a formal dinner with all the extended family. Of course the new reforms at the Ministry, with the implementation of the Wizard-Muggle Relations Program, the promulgation of the new Chart of Rights and Magical Ethics Principles, and the absolute removal of Dementors from Law enforcement functions had to come up. One thing led to another, and soon Great-Aunt Mathilda, after about the fifth glass of mead, was proclaiming loudly:

\- That's absolute nonsense, if you ask me! Azkaban is a prison, not a free-of-charge resort, for Merlin's sake! The Ministry's gone much too soft! I say, old Barty Crouch had it right, back in the day! Give those scoundrels a taste of their own medicine and we'll see if they're not all spilling the beans on all their pals still out there at large, faster than you can say Crucio!

I don't know whose face was redder, Daph's or Lottie's. Dad swiftly attempted to steer the conversation away from such a sensitive topic, but I'm afraid that when Great-Aunt Mathilda was on a roll, such an endeavour was akin to trying to halt a band of raging dragons with a Red Sparks Spell.

\- Besides, they have those horrible, horrible tattoos, don't they? – the elder woman went on, slurring loudly, her drink sloshing a bit in her hand – Well, how hard can it be to put a Trace on those darn things and hunt them down like the beasts they are? And then put those dreadful Dementors they so gladly incited to proliferate to some use, instead of wasting resources housing and feeding terrorists!

\- Auntie, please... – Mum intervened – There are children here!

Great-aunt Mathilda turned her slightly unfocused gaze to me, and then to my little cousin and said:

\- Well, and I'm sure they'll grow up to appreciate the practicality of the Dementor's Kiss, won't you, Archibald?

Archie's cheeks went a little pink at being called out like that. He shrugged non-committal and focused back on his bowl of pumpkin mousse.

Daphne excused herself from the table shortly after that, and Lottie followed her example. I, being the guest of honour, unfortunately was bound by etiquette to endure a while longer.

* * *

Lottie pretended to be asleep when I went to check on her, at the end of the evening. I pretended to believe.

Daphne, on the contrary, was very much awake.

\- That old COW! – she cried furiously, her stormy blue eyes shining with tears, while she clutched a photograph of herself and Theo to her chest – I should've had Bizzy poison her mead!

Bizzy was our house-elf, as I'm sure you've surmised. As for my sister's murderous intents, I assure you they were nothing more than inconsequential rantings of a star-crossed lover.

\- Don't pay her any mind, Daph. – I said.

I mean, I was no Pansy, or anything, and I might be a complete nullity in matters of the heart, but what kind of sister would I be if I didn't even try?

\- You know she's just a bitter old toad, who's done nothing but sit on her arse all her life, yapping whichever way the wind blows! Even last Christmas she was going on about how wizards were finally getting the guts to claim their rightful place and restore the natural order!

\- That's true… - Daphne acceded between sniffs. Then grumbled – The natural order should be her getting her dear Dementors' Kiss, instead! Would probably be the highlight of her love life, too, the frigid spinster!

\- Well, it seems they're all unemployed now. The Dementors, I mean. Maybe we can interest them in starting an escort service and set one up on a date with her.

Daphne chuckled. It was a very welcome sight, after all those gloomy weeks of tears. And I joined. For a couple of minutes, we chuckled together for the first time in what felt like a very long time. When we fell silent again, she looked back at me and a rather sheepish expression came over her face.

\- It's your birthday. – she said – You should be out enjoying yourself, not stuck here talking about Dementors. I'm sorry, little sister…

\- For what?

\- For… everything. Spoiling your evening…

\- Spoiling?! Seeing you smile just now was the best part of my day!

And she smiled wider.

Okay, so that was a bit overly sentimental. What can I say, it was a strange summer. Rest assured that afterwards, we went back to our good old us, with a healthy dose of sisterly bickering and arguing.

Starting the very next morning, actually. Over implicit boundaries and liberties in handling each other's mail, prompted by my (very innocently, mind you!) coming across a package from Tracey with a tag reading "A little something to cheer you up while Theo's away. (wink wink)" among the letters from Hogwarts.

Yep, that's right, Hogwarts was back on its feet, and we were going back. Which brings us to my completely hectic sixth year of school.


	4. Chapter 3 - Back to Hogwarts

**Chapter 3**

I had expected the new school year wouldn't be just another normal year at Hogwarts, of course. With everything that had happened, there were bound to be adjustments to be done, changes to be made. Good changes, hopefully, not like the year before, with the Carrows around.

For starters, nobody had taken their exams at the end of the previous year, obviously. This was particularly problematic for O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. level students, like myself and my sister, respectively.

So Daphne, and the rest of her year, had to come back in order to graduate and get their diplomas so that they could get jobs and build their future. You know, now that there was one to look forward to.

Well, not exactly everyone, apparently. The new Minister for Magic, Mr. Kingsley Shacklebolt, had decreed that those who had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts (on the winning side, obviously) and wished to become Aurors, could simply start training without further requirements. Practically goes without saying that Harry Potter, his friend Ronald Weasley and Neville Longbottom took him up on that offer. As did a few others, Parvati Patil and Ernie Macmillan among them.

As for us, former fifth years, we thankfully didn't have to repeat the whole year. We had an adapted sixth year, at the end of which we took exams that were instated for that year only, on account of the special circumstances. Wizarding Half-Advanced Level Examinations, or W.H.A.L.E.s, they called them, and were supposed to be something halfway between O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s.

The rules implemented by the Death Eaters the year before were, naturally, revoked. Which meant that Muggle-borns, blood-traitors and everyone who had been banned was admitted back in school; that there were no more whippings, beatings, crucioings or any forms of torture for detention; and, of course, that Quidditch was reinstated.

Muggle Studies, however, remained compulsory for everyone. Except now was called Human Studies, and comprised one weekly ninety-minute-long seminar and a practical two-hour-long lesson every other week.

But on with the story. The first changes were felt even before we arrived at school. Platform 9 ¾ was swarming with Aurors and Ministry Officials when we arrived to take the train on September first. Lottie walked silently beside me with her eyes on the ground. Daphne's head was going around like a radar, scanning the patrolling wizards in a way that, if I hadn't known better, would've made me think she might be a criminal scheming an escape.

Then, without warning, she darted toward a group of three men, two of whom instantly raised their wands, ready to attack. I let out a gasp, but Daph seemed to realise her mistake in time, and immediately halted with her hands up. The two Aurors lowered their wands, but only a few inches, and the third man stepped forward and held out his hands. It was Theo.

My sister practically leaped into his arms, and they stood for what seemed to me like a long time, but I'm sure felt to them like no time at all, holding each other tightly. Again, I averted my eyes from their private moment.

It's not like they were doing anything indecent, mind! It wasn't in either of their characters, nor in their upbringing, to put on effusive public displays of affection. But it also wasn't in mine to gawk.

After his interrogation, Theo had been released from Azkaban on parole. He still refused to disclose where he'd sent his father into hiding, for which he had been sanctioned with community service. Over a thousand hours in the Muggle Liaison Office at the Ministry.

I confess I was a little curious to see how he would cope with that. You know, Theo wasn't exactly the biggest fan of Muggles, which is why I'm sure his assignment wasn't picked at random.

Daph and Theo were still immersed in their own little world when Lottie and I boarded the train. I could tell Mum and Dad were getting restless and I was beginning to fear that not even the fact that we were in a public place would keep them quiet for much longer.

You see, ever since Theo had been released, the atmosphere back at home had been quite heavy, with Daph and my parents arguing a lot.

I think that maybe Mum and Dad had been kind of expecting Theo's imprisonment to put an end to his and my sister's relationship. Not that they had ever opposed to it, really, quite the opposite, what with Theo being Pureblood, and from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, at that. But I think they'd regarded it as ephemeral puppy love and now were getting a bit worried at how seriously Daphne was taking it.

Not to mention that, Pureblood or not, he was basically an unqualified wizard with a criminal record. You can't blame a parent for wishing more than that for their daughter.

And then she'd gone and sprung upon them that she didn't want to go back to school and finish her studies, in order to be able to be with Theo while he did his sentence at the Ministry.

It had got really ugly. Daphne had claimed that she was an adult and could make her own decisions. I honestly feared that my Dad would either bind and gag her and Apparate her to the train himself, or throw her out and disown her. Or else that she would make another attempt at running away, and succeed this time.

I, personally, thought my sister was being a lovesick fool. I mean, it appeared the worst was over, Theo wasn't going to be locked up in Azkaban, after all. How hard could it be to take one more school year, get her diploma and then reunite with him in the end? It was not like he was going anywhere, anyway.

But Daphne would just glare at me and say I couldn't possibly understand because I was too young and had never been in love. I thought that if to be in love I had to give up on myself and make my whole life revolve around someone else, I wasn't too eager to try it.

Daph finally parted from her beloved boyfriend at the very last minute, just before the clock struck eleven and the whistle blew to announce departure. She jumped directly on board without sparing Mum and Dad so much as a wave goodbye. Honestly, I wanted to slap her!

She walked off to go find her friends, and Lottie headed to the Prefects Carriage. I set off in search of an empty compartment, or at least a relatively quiet one, where I could spend some quality time with my sketchpad. Oh, and Mr. Felix, too.

Before you start thinking things, Mr. Felix was the baby Persian cat my parents had offered me for my birthday. They thought some feline company would be the best way to cheer me up. I think they were basically discarding me as an old, lonely cat lady. At sixteen.

Anyway, I would probably have had more luck with the compartments if I'd started looking earlier. As it was, the best I could find was one occupied only by a group of three terrified-looking first years. Well, hopefully they would remain nervous-wrecked enough to keep quiet for most of the journey.

Of course they didn't even consider objecting when I came in and settled on one of the corner seats beside the door. Three little pairs of wide eyes took timid covert glances my way while I took out my sketchpad and quills.

You see, I didn't really want to encourage conversation, but at the same time, I felt like I should say something. I mean, it had felt nice, on my very first journey to school, to have an older student tell me everything was going to be okay and that I was in for the best seven years of my life. Even if it was just my older sister and a couple of her friends.

\- So, - I tried, in what I hope was a friendly, but not overly inviting tone – is this your first year?

They looked momentarily puzzled, as though at a loss why an older student would be talking to them. Then nodded shyly.

\- Well, you've got nothing to be worried about. – I said – Hogwarts is really cool. And I am sure this will be a nice, calm, pleasant school year.

Unlike the nightmare that was the last one, with the Carrows, I added mentally. Or the one before that, with students getting inexplicably cursed and poisoned and the Headmaster getting killed.

They smiled timidly back at me and then one of them seemed about to say something, when the door was suddenly slid open and a cold drawling voice said harshly:

\- First years ride in the coal-car. Get out.

The three younglings looked up at the two new arrivals visibly intimidated. And then even more so when the burly gorilla-like Goyle began suggestively cracking his knuckles.

Draco Malfoy dropped onto two seats with a nasty smirk, as the three first years scampered awkwardly out the door, struggling with their trunks. Then his eyes fell on me, curled up quietly on my corner. His pale eyebrows rose slightly.

\- I hope you're not expecting me to go ride in the coal-car. – I said coldly, before focusing back on my drawing.

Goyle hesitated, as though waiting for orders to whether or not "encourage" me to leave. I suppose he must have been instructed against it, because he ended up simply taking the seat in front of Malfoy, by the window.

\- What are you doing here, anyway? – Malfoy asked after a while.

I looked up from my sketchpad to see him regarding me slightly curiously. What kind of stupid question was that?

\- I think the more natural question is what are you?

At once his mildly cordial expression morphed into a grimace of haughty aggressiveness, and he snarled:

\- I'm a free man, aren't I? I have as much right to go back as you do!

\- I meant, aren't you supposed to be in the Prefects Carriage?

That seemed to catch him by surprise. His stance slacked back into his usual superior aloofness and he shrugged, with a dismissive:

\- Didn't feel like going there. Too crowded for my taste.

The crowd's hostility toward him and his family at the end of their trial came to mind, and I opted for not commenting his retort. Instead, I said:

\- I never got to thank you, the both of you, for, you know, looking out for me, that night.

Goyle blinked a couple of times, as though trying to figure out when he had done such a thing. But I could swear a hint of a smile eventually broke somewhere in his forever clueless expression, this time.

Malfoy replied, affecting nonchalance and even boredom:

\- Yeah, you did.

\- Not the second time.

After some more long moments of silent drawing, in my case, and mute staring out the window, in theirs, Malfoy said quietly:

\- You were there. At the trial.

\- Oh, I wasn't there for you. – I replied absently – I was there for Theo. Or rather, I was there for my sister, who was there for Theo.

Then something about the shadow I thought I saw cross his eyes for an instant made me add, in what I hope was a gentler, more sympathetic tone:

\- But I'm glad you were cleared of your charges, and are able to come back to school…

He snorted and muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like "Bet you're the only one…"

* * *

Arriving back at Hogwarts was, I admit, a bit bittersweet. It was nice seeing the castle restored to its former glory, as welcoming and pleasant as the first time I'd arrived there. But, at the same time, I don't think anyone could remain indifferent to the memorial brass plaque listing over fifty names that now hung right at the entrance. Or to the slight increase in the castle's ghostly population.

Indeed, a few new pearly-white figures glimmered transparently among the ranks of the timeless residents of the castle. Figures which, only months before, had walked those corridors, sat at those desks, eaten at those tables, with flesh and blood and beating hearts as real as mine. Figures who, like me, had come to school, and lived, and grown up within its walls. Figures who wouldn't, however, get to leave this school, and live and grow old, and were forever echoes of lives lost within its walls.

Most of the Great Hall was moved by the newly-appointed Headmistress McGonagall's welcoming speech, but I don't think anyone's tears were as nearly heart-breaking to see as those pearly-white transparent, intangible ones.

I didn't really want to stare, but at the same time, I couldn't help scanning them to see if I could identify any one. Whether I was hoping I would or praying I wouldn't, I'm not sure. For one thing, maybe Lottie wouldn't feel so alone if she could see her mother again. But on the other hand, wouldn't it be worse to be able to see her, but not have her really there? Not to mention how everyone else would take it to have a Death Eater forever haunting the school.

But Mrs. Selwyn was not among the ghosts, nor were Sean or anyone I could name. I did recognise the Hufflepuff girl I mentioned before, the one who'd covered for me once with Ms. Carrow. And when we went back to the Slytherin Dungeon, I found that our House seemed to have gained a new ghost, as well. And a very angry one, at that.

I had the first glimpse of him somewhere along the labyrinthine corridor that led to the Common Room. He was large and very fat, that was as much as I could say. His features were horribly distorted, as his translucent skin and flesh appeared charred and melted almost to the bone. His ghostly robes, too, were tattered and singed, and whiffs of ghostly smoke appeared to emanate from him. Looking swiftly away from the disturbing sight, I didn't recognise him until later that evening, when he appeared in the Common Room, to general horrified gasps and cries. He glided menacingly to the place where a few 8th years were sitting, and said in a sharp tone, dripping with hate and resentment:

\- Missed me, did you?

There are no words to describe the horror on the boys' faces.

\- What's wrong? – the ghost went on – Don't you recognise an old mate, Draco? Look at me! LOOK AT ME, DRACO!

It seemed to take years of life from him, but he did look up to the ghost's gruesome death mask of a face.

\- Does it bother you to see me like this, huh? – the ghost spat viciously, deathly hateful pearly-white eyes boring into horror-struck pale grey ones – Didn't bother you to leave me to die in that hellfire, though!

The whole room was silent, observing the scene with morbid attention. Draco didn't seem able to find his voice. When he finally spoke, it was in a barely audible strangled whisper:

\- Crabbe, I… I couldn't find you…

\- You could drag him, unconscious and all, couldn't you? – Crabbe retorted bitterly, indicating a completely aghast Goyle with a nod of his disfigured face – You could turn against me in favour of Potter! You could turn to him to save your neck and then leave me to burn!

\- I'm telling you, I tried… – Draco pleaded miserably – I didn't mean… I… I'm sorry…

\- No. – Crabbe hissed darkly, ominously – But you will be! I'll make sure of that!

If Malfoy's moody self-isolation, baggy eyes and permanent tortured expression was any indication, I'd say ghost Crabbe was making good on his promise. Though Malfoy was somewhat making it hard to feel sorry for him, when he was being snarkier than ever, taking out his frustrations on anyone and everyone he came across.

But he wasn't the only one whose past relations were coming back to haunt him. Lottie was having a hard time coping with some harsh words, accusatory looks, scathing remarks and general hostility thrown her way.

I suppose it wasn't much of a surprise that Slytherin House wasn't exactly popular those days. It hadn't been for a while, and then the War had only made it worse, as far as the other Houses were concerned. Except now there seemed to be factions and prejudice even within our own House.

Indeed, many once fairly neutral Slytherins, probably in an attempt to demarcate themselves from the defeated Dark side and thus seek more acceptance from the wizarding community in general, were now taking to spurn and vilify those of their housemates with any connection with the Death Eaters.

So, in a way, the end of the war had not so much put an end to prejudice and bigotry, as turn it around and direct it to new targets. And don't give me that argument that those new targets had it coming because they had been stuck-up, prejudiced Purebloods themselves in the first place! Because if we go down that road, remember that prejudice toward Muggles didn't start out of the blue, either, but because they'd persecuted wizards for centuries, until finally driving them into hiding!

And surely you're not so spiteful as to tell me that a sixteen-year-old girl who'd lost both of her parents within little over one month's time deserved to be bullied and hated for crimes she had not committed!

I found her holed up in the draughty Owlery one evening, with a quill in one hand and a blank piece of parchment in the other, and tear tracks down her cheeks.

\- Hey, Lottie. – I greeted quietly, unsure whether or not I should leave her be and come back later for my letter.

She looked up at me with a small rueful smile, not even attempting to disguise her tears.

You see, despite having spent most of the summer with her, I hadn't seen her cry since the day of the trial. You may think it odd, but the truth was that she was a very private person and I had merely been respecting that and giving her space to grieve. I don't presume to say I could possibly imagine the pain she was in, but I did understand only too well that there are times when the world around you can be smothering and you need to take a step back and re-learn how to breathe.

\- I've been having a bit of trouble writing a letter… - she told me, as I approached and sat beside her on the windowsill.

\- What was it that you wanted to write?

\- That's the problem… - she said, sadly – I don't know…

\- Well, maybe you can take some time and come back to it later.

\- I've been doing that for weeks…

She glanced at me warily and seemed to hesitate, but then, lowering her eyes to her hands, murmured:

\- My… my father's written to me, you see…

There was another pause. I nodded slightly to let her know I was listening and waited for her to say whatever she wanted to say.

\- He says he's proud of me, and that I'm the best thing he's ever done…

\- And you don't believe him?

\- Well, he got himself caught and sent away… He… - her voice broke at this point, and renewed tears were brimming in her eyes – he knew he was all I had left… and he didn't even try…

I was at a loss what to say to that. Then I remembered all the trouble Theo had gone and was going through and said, rather awkwardly, perhaps, but hopefully somehow helpfully as well:

\- Maybe… Maybe it was his way of protecting you… - she looked up at me sceptically and I explained – You know, taking responsibility, so that you wouldn't be dragged into it and put through messy investigations and interrogations… So that you could be free…

\- Yeah, free as a bird! – she snorted bitterly – It's just a shame everyone's trying to shoot me and pluck my feathers!

Again, I had no idea what to respond to that. What could I possibly say? There was no explanation, no possible selfless intention, no reason at all but misplaced resentment and spite behind the sheer callousness and hostility she was being shown.

\- I think… - she continued after a moment, in a small voice – I think, in a way, that's the worst part… Knowing they're right… Knowing I'm supposed to hate him… both of them… for what they…

She broke off, overwhelmed by the tears that were now flowing down her face and splashing onto the blank piece of parchment still clutched in her hands. Fixing her eyes on a carcass of a rat a little ahead on the filthy floor, she cried in a strangled voice:

\- But they are… were… the only parents I've ever had! And I could never see the monsters everyone says they were!

At this point, I realised my own eyes were moist. What was wrong with me? It was not my place to cry, it was my place to listen and do my best to dry her tears!

\- I don't think you're supposed to hate them, Lottie. – I said, in what I hope was a steady, kindly tone – They were never monsters, only people who've… hurt other people. But that doesn't mean they weren't good parents or that they didn't… don't care about you…

\- I don't know… I don't know anything, anymore, Tori! Every time I think of them, every time I try to remember how it was like before… it's like I'm not sure if it was even real, anymore… and I keep hearing all those accusations…

This was exactly why I hadn't told her I'd seen her mother during the Battle. Well, one of the reasons. For one thing, I was still trying to process it myself: what she had done, and then, after having done it, having tried to help me… And how she'd died in such a brutal way… But also, Lottie had basically had both of her parents taken away from her. I couldn't possibly also go and spoil her memory of them, when it was all she had left to hold on to. But now she was losing that, too.

\- I… I suppose, - I began, trying to find the right words to say - sometimes, people we love may do bad things… but that has nothing to do with how they feel about us… and it doesn't erase the good things we love them for.

She seemed to reflect on my words for a few moments. Then she gave me a small, tiny, sad smile, with tears again shining in her chocolate brown eyes. When I left the Owelery, she was starting the third line of her letter.

* * *

Those first weeks back at Hogwarts proved, like I'd expected, to require quite a bit of adjusting, changing and coping, for many of us. For me, in particular, the return to school also meant the return of nightmares crowded with cruel masks, evil laughter, flashes and blasts of light, inhuman monsters and desperate cries for help in voices I would never again hear anywhere but in my mind.

I tried to apply my mother's method of tiring the dreams away, but, let's face it, I was basically locked up in a school twenty-four hours a day. Not that Hogwarts wasn't an exciting place, but it's not like my days were still filled with shopping marathons, swimming with the hippocampi, or acrobatic flying carpets. I tried to pour all my energies into the academic work, but you can hardly get the same adrenaline rush sitting at a desk for most of the day.

So, more than once, I woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat, thrashing and kicking at the bedcovers like they were my mortal enemies. This was especially problematic considering I was no longer barricaded in the cocoon of my own bedroom, but in a dormitory shared with four more people, who, understandably, were quite fond of a good night's sleep. And who had no business knowing that my brain apparently wasn't.

It was for that reason that I was to be found late one night in the deserted Common Room in my pyjamas. Well, again, not exactly pyjamas, but my nightly tracksuit bottoms and baggy Muggle band t-shirt. Rolling Stones, this time. I have kind of adopted it as my trademark, you see. And since it no longer incurred me in mortal peril, I didn't feel the need to be so scrupulous about exposing my attire outside the dormitory.

Anyway, there I was, lounging on one of the black leather sofas, with little Mr. Felix purring contentedly curled up on my lap, while I attempted to spend my teratophilic imagination on my sketchpad and thus relieve my poor, massacred subconscious. Well, it made sense in theory.

At one point, the passage on the wall opened, and in came Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy, Prefect badges glimmering on their chests. There was no saying which of them looked surlier. I suppose none of them was much too excited about being Prefects, anymore. Draco had his ghosts and his bitterness to preoccupy him, and Pansy I'd overheard in conversation with my sister complaining about having lost her Head Girl badge to Hermione Granger.

\- Hey, Drawings, put that sketchpad away and get to bed before I give you detention for breaking curfew! – Pansy snapped as soon as she spotted me. Yep, she was in a foul mood.

I opened my mouth to reply, but she didn't even give me a chance. Sparing her colleague a withering look, she at once stalked off to the corridor that led to the dormitories. I made to go back to my drawings, but the other Prefect was still standing there, as though waiting for me to get up and do as she'd said.

\- The rules say we can't go walk around the corridors, there's nothing against me staying in the Common Room. – I reminded him quite assertively – I've checked.

\- I didn't say anything, did I?

No, in truth, he hadn't. I felt a little bad, as he took a seat on the armchair next to me and fixed distant, troubled eyes on the flames dancing under the mantelpiece.

For some reason I can't quite fathom, my mouth felt compelled to say quietly, after a moment:

\- Eve and Ramona don't want the lights on. I can't sleep with them off.

He nodded, so slightly that I'm not sure if it was to himself or to let me know he understood. We stayed like that for a while, quietly drawing, in my case, in silent contemplation, in his. It wasn't uncomfortable silence, either. Not like those times you get stuck with someone you hardly know but with whom you're acquainted enough to be bound by common courtesy to chit chat. Somehow, it felt like having a companion in the face of my imaginary demons, but at the same time, without intruding in each other's breathing space.

Eventually, he got up and said, not unkindly:

\- You should at least try to get some sleep, you know. Try keeping your wand under your pillow, that might help.

I tried to think of something useful to say to him as well, but I had nothing. So I just gave him a grateful smile and said:

\- Good night, Draco.

\- Good night, Drawings.

I could swear I'd seen a hint of a smirk there.

\- Again, I have a name, you know!

And again bemusement flashed for a second across his eyes, to be succeeded by a somewhat apologetic look he instantly tried to disguise by retorting, rather haughtily:

\- Well, you've never told me what it is, have you?

\- I'm sure you can figure it out if you put your mind to it.

And with that, I got up and left for my dormitory, sticking my nose in the air to match the supercilious sneer I'm sure he was displaying to my back. I have to admit, though, the wand under my pillow did help a little bit.

Then a more active solution presented itself on the first week of October. It was my cousin who first brought up the subject, when I arrived at the Common Room one afternoon after classes to find him and a few other younger boys gathered in front of the notice board.

\- Hey, Tori! – he called excitedly – You're not going to believe this!

\- Well, coming from you, I usually don't.

Such was his enthusiasm that he completely ignored my playful remark, and all but sang:

\- They're holding Quidditch trials! – and then felt the need to specify – For the Slytherin team!

You may find his excitement a bit exaggerated, but the situation really was a novelty, at that time. Everyone knew that nobody had tried out for our House Quidditch team for years and years. Usually, the appointed Captain merely picked his players among people of his relations. Which is why I couldn't help but exclaim, as I headed over to the notice board to see it for myself:

\- What, no way! Who's the friendless new Captain?

\- It doesn't say… - one of Archie's friends replied, inspecting the notice closely – It only says they're looking for two chasers, one beater and a keeper, and instructs those interested to sign up and be at the pitch next Saturday morning…

That was odd. So odd, in fact, that I began to suspect the whole thing was just someone trying to pull a fast one on the eager younger students.

\- I'm going to try for all three positions!

\- I reckon that might be a bit overambitious, even for you, Archie! – I chuckled.

\- Not at all, my dear cousin, - he retorted with a wily smile – I'm just increasing my odds at making the team. Hey, you should try, too! I think I trained you well enough over the summer, you're not too bad!

The little tyke!

\- Oh, I don't know, "coach"… - I replied, and then with a teasing smirk to match his – I would probably beat you at all three of those positions.

\- Yeah, I get why you're chickening out. It's not like they'd let girls on the team, anyway.

Well, my honour had been questioned, so you can imagine where it led to. Yes, indeed, it led me to the Quidditch pitch on that chilly, rainy Saturday morning.

I remember mentally berating myself for my impulsive decision, over and over, that morning. In fact, I had half a mind to simply forget all about it and go back to bed from the moment I got up and caught a glimpse of the heavily clouded sky outside, to the moment I arrived at the damp, windswept stands.

The first thing I noticed was that there weren't those many people there, and most were younger students. The second thing I noticed was that I seemed to be the only girl.

At that point, I actually took a couple of steps back down the stairs. But then I saw a group of eager little first years coming up, and that finally spurred me to buckle down and go take a seat to wait for my turn.

I confess I was a little bit surprised when I saw the tall, blond young man that strutted to the middle of the pitch with a clip board in one hand, a whistle in the other, and the emerald green Team Captain badge gleaming on the front of his robes. I supposed it made sense, considering he must have been the oldest and the longest-standing player on the team. But, somehow, I still found it somewhat surprising that he hadn't bragged about it, not even a little bit, as far as I knew. In fact, he seemed to have been rather secretive, not even revealing his name on the notice.

The rest of the team was there, too: the burly, silent Goyle, looking threatening with his Beater's bat, and the tall, dark and handsome Blaise Zabini, another 8th year, who played Chaser. They stood there, in their Quidditch robes, observing, occasionally exchanging a comment between them, as Draco Malfoy called the candidates one by one.

He started with the Chasers, then the Keepers, and reserved the Beaters for last. It wasn't difficult to tell he wasn't at all pleased, as most of the competitors were very young and inexperienced and it showed on their performances.

Archie did indeed try out for all three positions. I watched as he managed to score three goals, standing out from many of the would-be Chasers, who hadn't done much more than drop the Quaffle; I watched as he did one rather impressive save and then completely messed up the second penalty, somehow missing the Quaffle by an arm's length and accidentally sending it straight into the right-hand hoop with a swat of his broom; and I watched as he succeeded in hitting almost all the Bludgers Malfoy shot, but getting so overconfident that he let the last one nearly knock him off his broom, trying to strike it mid-loop. And then it was my turn.

\- Greengrass, Tori. – Malfoy called.

My face must have been as green as his uniform, as I slowly made my way to him, keenly aware of all the amused stares and derisive whispers around me. What had I been thinking, signing up for this? It was really not my thing, getting all eyes on me, and, worse yet, getting all eyes on me while under evaluation!

\- Well, well! Little Tori. – Malfoy sneered when I approached, to snickers from the closest around.

Gee, thanks! Like I wasn't already wishing to turn into a tiny little Horklump and sink to the ground right then, the team Captain himself had to make fun of me as well!

\- What are you doing here, Little Tori? – he went on, in his disdainful drawl.

\- Sightseeing! – I retorted angrily – What does it look like I'm doing?!

\- I'm looking for a Beater, not a towel girl!

Malfoy's permanent frown as of late, was now replaced by his old gloating smirk as, for some reason, Goyle, Zabini and all the oldest boys around appeared to be enjoying the comedy show of the century. I felt like crying. Or vomiting.

Instead, I lifted my chin up and stated, determinedly:

\- Nowhere on the rules does it say girls can't try out for the team.

\- Yeah? Well, I'm the Captain, so I make the rules. And I say you don't meet the requirements.

\- And what requirements are those? You haven't even let me try!

His nasty amusement was giving way to irritation, at this point. I don't think he was used to being talked back to by tiny, skinny girls who hadn't even been worth noticing for the past five years.

\- You're not… big enough! – he spat irritably, cold grey eyes flashing at me.

That was the stupidest, pettiest argument he could possibly have used and I could tell he knew it. He was just giving me more and more reason not to back down.

\- You let my cousin try and he's only in second year!

\- Well, at least he's able to pick up the bat without needing it to be under a Feather-light Charm!

The others again broke into laughter. So he was back to taunts and jeers to entertain the crowd, was he?

\- Well, hand one over and we'll test that theory using your head as a Bludger, shall we?

Whether I managed to impress him or I simply wore him out, the truth is I eventually was zooming on my Comet 290, batting each Bludger Malfoy kept shooting every which way across the pitch. All without exception flew straight back in his direction, narrowly missing him by inches. He finally blew the whistle after one of the Bludgers knocked his clipboard clean off his hand and three feet away to the ground in two pieces.

It was my turn to smirk in gloat as I made my way out of the pitch and he surly barked the name of the next candidate.

* * *

I was sitting with Lottie and another classmate at one corner of the Slytherin table, next morning at breakfast, when in came Pansy, Daphne, Tracey, and the rest of the gang. I saw my sister scan the table and, spotting me, make a bee line to where I sat, the others right behind her. Unceremoniously pushing aside Jorge, my classmate, and a few younger students in the closest vicinity, they all sat down and Daphne demanded without preamble:

\- You're in the Quidditch team?!

\- I… I am?

I swear I wasn't playing dumb, I really was dumbstruck at the news. Daphne went on:

\- I didn't even know you were going to try out!

\- Neither did I, honestly, - I stammered, my usual morning toast with blueberry jelly suddenly seeming way too big for my stomach – it was sort of a decision on the spur of the moment…

I didn't know why my sister was looking so grim about it, and her expression was only adding to my uneasiness. I felt like I had to explain:

\- It was Archie's idea! And then he was saying I was chickening out… And everybody was snickering and then… oh, it felt good to smack those Bludgers right back! But I didn't think… Malfoy made it clear he wasn't interested in letting girls on the team!

\- Well, he isn't interested in girls, full stop. – Pansy muttered bitterly, making Daphne roll her eyes and snap:

\- Give it a rest, Pans, will you! I'm trying to have a serious conversation with my baby sister, can you please, for once, not make this about you?!

\- I'm not a baby!

But my words were drowned by Pansy's angry retort and I took advantage of the ensuing argument to make my exit.

My heart was practically leaping out of my mouth, as I made my way to the Common Room and straight to the notice board. A knot of disappointed boys was gathered in front of it, and shot me scornful and resentful looks, as I read the latest announcement:

**Slytherin Quidditch Team**

Chasers: Blaise Zabini, Jasper Laughalot, Archibald Greengrass

Beaters: Gregory Goyle, Tori Greengrass

Keeper: Stuart Winickus

Seeker: Draco Malfoy

So there you have it: I'd got myself on the Quidditch team. The upside was that it worked exactly like I'd expected it to, as far as the nightmares were concerned. I was so completely exhausted after every practice, that it was a miracle I managed to make it all the way back to my bed, afterwards. Well, in fact, I can think of at least one occasion in which I didn't, and fell asleep slumped over my trunk while rummaging in it for my pyjamas. Yeah, Eve and the Evelettes were extremely amused.

The downside, or, maybe not so much a downside as a particularly hard part about it, was actually being in the team.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for your support so far, I appreciate your reading, following, favouriting and, of course, reviewing the story. **

**I hope you've enjoyed this new chapter, and if you could be so kind as to share any thoughts about the story, the characters, the writing, or anything at all, I would of course be very happy to read them and take them into account.**

**Thank you, and good reads, everyone! :D**


	5. Chapter 4 - In the Team

**Chapter 4**

Rivalry and antagonism are intrinsic features of the world of sports. It's a fact. So I could hardly be surprised at the mutual exchange of jibes, chants, pushes and all the other intimidation techniques between the different House teams, especially on the days leading up to each game.

What I confess I had not anticipated was facing the same treatment from inside my own team. I suppose that, just like with Eve and her friends, being the odd one out made me an easy target in this group as well. Or maybe I really wasn't cut out for the group thing. Either way, it felt like it was me against the world, and that I had to turn myself inside out fighting for my place in that team every step of the way.

It started off on the wrong foot from the very beginning. Malfoy seemed to be taking his sweet time working out our training schedule. I mean, I did understand that he had a lot on his plate, what with Prefect duties and going through whatever he was going through, on top of it being his final year of school and all. But he'd accepted captainship, so he had to come through. And our first match was already on the second weekend of November.

Then, when the first practice finally took place, it so happened to be on one especially cold, stormy evening. Believe me, I am not overdramatising when I say it seemed like a scenery straight out of a horror film (yes, I do know what that is, though nobody here at home is very fond of that particular genre). The howling wind was whipping the grounds as the seven of us exited the front doors headed to the Quidditch pitch. Heavy, dark clouds hung low in the sky, rumbling with thunder as bolts of lightning struck in the distance every now and again.

It was all I could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, purposely remaining at the back of the group so that they wouldn't notice me shivering like my bones were made of paper. Then a particularly loud thunder crashed closer above the Forbidden Forest, and I practically jumped out of my skin, letting out a veritably wimpy squeal and tripping over my broom in the process.

Needless to say, snickers and snide remarks ensued. Way to prove their point of not wanting girls on the team! Honestly, I had never been afraid of storms before, but I seemed to have become rather sensitive to loud noises and flashes of light, as of late.

I angrily swatted away the hand extended to me, and got up on my own. To find the Captain himself towering over me, returning his rejected hand to the warmth of his pocket. For once, however, he wasn't smirking disdainfully, but looking rather queasy himself, to be honest.

Then it got worse. We had barely resumed our way, when a flash of lightning ripped the sky like the light of day and, in the booming thunder that followed, a ghastly apparition loomed out of the blue in our path.

Big and menacing, charred and disfigured, smoking and puffing, the ghostly figure of Vincent Crabbe glided toward us, hissing maliciously:

\- So I get left to die, and you get made Team Captain!

Malfoy seemed about to faint.

\- How many brooms did your father have to buy this time to manage that?

We were all rooted to the spot in silence, no one daring to say a word. It was Malfoy who called to us a quiet "C'mon!" and resumed leading the way to the pitch.

\- You won't mind if I tag along, will you, Draco? – ghost Crabbe sneered nastily, gliding alongside us – After all, you've always liked to keep me around, to look big and scary for you.

And then, glancing contemptuously at the rest of us, added:

\- And I'm curious to see who you've recruited to take my place.

I felt, rather than saw, a few pairs of eyes turning in my direction. I could hardly breathe, my insides seemed to have frozen.

I almost dropped the bat Malfoy handed me when we finally arrived at the pitch. The last thing I saw as I kicked off into the air was a leering ghostly death mask breaking into scornful laughter.

* * *

Whether because I was replacing Crabbe (on the pitch, that is), or because I was a girl, or because of whatever reason he'd come up with, Malfoy did seem to be giving me a harder time than he was giving anyone else, during practices.

And when the practices were finished, I had to put up with the rest of the team's hazing. I mean, even Archie, who was the youngest, seemed to have been better accepted than me! In fact, sometimes he even joined in the laughter! I get why he did, he didn't want to seem like he was going against the tide. But it still stung a little.

From turning my broom pink, to swapping my bat for a fake one that turned into a bouquet of flowers when I was about to hit the Quaffle, to Vanishing my clothes while I was in the shower, they did it all. I don't think you can possibly imagine the embarrassment and humiliation it is to have to step out of the bathroom clad only in a towel and cross the locker room, where six teenage boys are laughing their heads off at you, to get to your wand so that you can Summon an entire outfit, underwear and all, all the way from the castle.

Maybe for some girls that might seem flattering, but trust me, I had nothing that could possibly interest them to see. I was boringly plain and flat. My chest and bum were plain and flat, my hair was plain and flat and boring dark-caramel brown, even my face was plain and… well, not flat, but boring pale and thin.

I mean, I've never thought of myself as vain, or overly concerned about my looks. But any teenage girl will naturally be a bit self-conscious about one aspect or another of their appearance, right? Especially when her older sister is one of the best-looking and more popular girls in school. Not that I'm jealous, mind! But I'd have to be thicker than a concussed Troll not to notice the way practically every boy in our House looked at Daph and Pansy and their group.

You know, on the summer of my fourteenth birthday, Pansy and the others came to stay at Little Appleton Hall for a couple of weeks. I remember seeing them in their bathing suits, as we were lounging by the creek in our garden, and feeling a bit insecure about taking off my t-shirt. So that night, I snuck to the ingredient cupboard, then locked myself in my bathroom and whipped up a basic Swelling Solution. It's a first year level potion, really simple and quick to make. Next morning, before I pulled on my top, I applied a couple of drops. It was such a disaster that I swore I would never again try to interfere with the natural development of the goods I'd been given.

But enough about my insecurities and how my condescending teammates were making them all keenly resurface. My position in the team soon seemed positively hanging by a thread, thanks to my overbearing big sister.

\- Is it true you're being pushed around by your teammates? – Daphne demanded bluntly, taking the seat in front of mine at the table in the Common Room where I had, up until that point, been peacefully writing my Transfiguration essay.

\- Who told you that?

Of course I already had my suspicions and was making a mental note to give Archie a good ear-pull the next time I saw him.

\- Doesn't matter who told me! – my sister snapped – Is it true? Is it true you had to walk around the locker room naked in front of them?

\- I didn't walk around naked in front of anybody! – I exclaimed in a rather squeaky voice that was most certainly not mine, my face probably about to melt off, it was so hot.

\- Why didn't you tell me?! What else did those gits do to you?

By this time, I was looking around the room, to make sure that at least none of those in question were within earshot. I mean, she hadn't even had the sensitivity to cast a Muffliato Charm!

And just my luck, who should walk in at that moment, but Mr. Captain himself with his remaining faithful crony, Goyle. And from the look on his face, he could have just had a run-in with the ghostly second half of the old pair.

\- Draco! – my sister called imperiously, springing from her seat – A word, please?

I vainly tried to grab her sleeve and whisper:

\- No, Daphne! Please, don't…

But she was already striding toward her classmate. I sank in my chair, desperately wishing for an Invisibility Cloak to materialise right then over my person.

That's when they started plainly and simply excluding me from team meetings. I was still summoned to the practices, yes, and they all carried on with their teasing, perhaps now more ruthlessly than ever. In fact, when I arrived at the locker room for the very first practice after my sister's intervention, they all fell solemnly silent. Then Jasper Laughalot, a brawny, cocky boy in my year, who played Chaser, got up and strutted over with his permanent crooked grin and said:

\- Dearest Little Tori!

At once, a few smirks made their appearances and Goyle was already starting to chuckle goofily.

\- It has come to our attention that some of our… displays of affection – he said slyly, to more snickering – may have offended your "dollyness". Please accept our sincere apologies and this gift as a token of our utmost respect for our beloved Porcelain Princess.

And he held out in his hands a box of tissues complete with a glittery pink bow and a card that read "For Little Tori". Anyone passing by outside the locker room in the next ten minutes would probably have thought some psycho was mercilessly shooting Rictusempra Charms around.

But, like I said, they started excluding me. They had, as I discovered one evening on the week leading up to our first match, against Gryffindor, been holding tactical and strategic meetings to which I didn't seem to have been invited.

I happened upon them completely by chance, as I was looking around the labyrinthine corridors down in the dungeon for Mr. Felix, who had sprang from my arms and disappeared from view in pursue of some rat. At one point in my search, I heard voices coming from a small empty chamber the Carrows had used to lock up in shackles the students that earned detention.

\- You bloody fools! – Malfoy was chastising – You should've caught him on his own! Or at least checked that there weren't any of those idiots from Dumbledore's Army around, since you can't even block a stupid Bat-Bogey Hex!

I heard a couple of grunts, so I supposed one of the "bloody fools" must be Goyle. And someone else murmured something I couldn't quite catch. Mr. Captain went on:

\- What about the Weaselette plan, then?

\- Still nothing. – Blaise Zabini responded, surly – She's not dumb, I think she's onto us…

\- Well, what's the point of all that spying on their practices, if we're nowhere closer to getting a look at that playbook?! Honestly, it's like you don't even want to win!

* * *

When I arrived at the next practice, the other six players were already gathered on one side of the locker room, again discussing their secret strategies. Jasper noticed me entering and signalled to the others, who at once fell silent, as though I were some spy from the rival team. I opened my bag, took out a scarlet and gold spiral book and said:

\- Were you talking about this?

Six jaws dropped. Malfoy was already heading toward me, eyes shining greedily as he asked:

\- Is that…

\- The Gryffindors' playbook, yeah. – I replied smugly.

\- How…

\- Perks of being the unnoticeable, dismissible little girl. – I shrugged even more smugly.

They were all looking at me like Muggles having just discovered a unicorn. At least until I flicked my wand and the stolen property was Banished back to the castle.

\- What'd you do that for?! – Malfoy cried angrily, his hand outstretched in mid-air as he had been about to grab the book.

\- It's cheating!

And now they were all looking at me like I was a Muggle who'd just taken their wands and called them drumsticks. I said, above the angry retorts and scathing comments:

\- And I, for one, feel offended that our Captain – at this, I looked straight at Malfoy's face - believes so little in his own team, that he doesn't even think we have a chance against them without cheating.

That shut them all up. Draco looked livid, regarding me with icy cold pale grey eyes. I went on:

\- All the other Houses already think we're nothing but a bunch of talentless, unscrupulous dirtbags. And here you are, underselling yourselves just to prove them right!

You could feel the tension in the air in the few silent moments that followed. Then Malfoy signalled and everyone filed out onto the pitch. Not without sparing me a couple of bumps, of course. Jasper Laughalot even hissed rather menacingly in my ear, before pushing me:

\- If we lose this game, it's on you!

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and, picking up my things, turned to head back out the door.

\- Where are you going? – came Mr. Captain's snapping voice from the exit that led to the pitch.

\- Well, I'm off the team, aren't I?

\- And where am I going to find another Beater on such short notice? Get on that broom and give me a reason to believe you lot are not a bunch of talentless dirtbags!

I think that was the night I didn't even make it to bed after practice, I was so completely exhausted. Though I suppose that could have been after any of the other practices that week, too. Malfoy was being absolutely relentless. And not just with me, either.

Jasper Laughalot even fell asleep during Charms, one morning after one of those practices. He'd been made to do sixty extra laps after everyone else had been dismissed, as punishment for disturbing the initial tactical explanation because he was more interested in stealing and going through my sketchbook. Yeah, that's a whole other story in itself.

I, unlike him, had been focused on what Mr. Captain was saying, so I didn't notice my thief of a teammate sneakily getting his hands in my bag. The others snickered quietly behind my back while he took out and showed around the contents one by one. By the time I noticed Goyle laughing stupidly at a tampon, it was too late.

\- Oh, what's this?! – Jasper chirped nastily, picking up the little sketchbook, while I tried to struggle my hygiene products from the brute's hands.

I hadn't thought my face could get any hotter. I had been wrong. I forgot about Goyle and rushed to Laughalot, unable to help myself squealing:

\- Give that here!

\- Why? Is it your diary? – he teased, an evil twinkle in his eye, as he easily kept the book out of my reach – Shall we take a look at Little Tori's dirty little secrets?

He seemed a bit disappointed when he opened it and found only drawings inside.

\- These are actually really good! – Blaise Zabini exclaimed, peeking at my artwork over Jasper's shoulder.

\- Thanks! – I grumbled – Can I have it back now?

I reached for my sketchbook, but Jasper had other ideas. He had just come upon one of the last pages, where the sketch of a portrait was figured.

\- Hold on! – he exclaimed – This face… reminds me of someone…

\- No, it doesn't! – I said very quickly, doubling my efforts to take back the little book.

\- Yeah, it does! It's that Gryffindor bloke that used to be in our year…

They all looked at me like their suspicions had just been confirmed and I was a spy for the rival team.

\- Is he your boyfriend? – Laughalot sneered nastily.

\- No!

\- But you fancy him!

\- I do not!

And believe it or not, the others were all watching the show like frustrated housewives finding out a neighbour's scandalous affair. I mean, since when do teenage boys let themselves be distracted from their sport by petty, girlish gossip?! Laughalot was loving it. Then his eyes narrowed at me and he exclaimed:

\- Wait, wasn't he a Mudblood?

\- A Mudblood!

\- You fancy a Mudblood, cuz?!

\- You…

\- OI!

Our heads snapped at once to Malfoy, who was regarding us visibly bothered. Clearing his throat, he asked sharply:

\- Can we focus back on the game?

But apparently the piece of unfounded gossip was simply too juicy for them to leave it alone for long. All throughout the practice, I was greeted with insinuating noises of kissing and retching, and other ungracious provocations. I did my best to ignore them and keep my face. But at one point, as we were finishing up stretching, back on the ground, Laughalot hissed nastily from behind me:

\- I'm just curious, Little Mudblood Lover, what is it about him? Is it the Muggle stench that turns you on? Does it taste like mud when you snog him? Does he sweep you off your feet with his…

\- HE'S DEAD!

I swear I'd tried to keep my cool, I really had. But I was just too tired and he was just too mean, and he was making me think about things I had been trying really hard not to think about, and I just exploded, rounding on him:

\- HE'S DEAD, OKAY? DEAD!

Suddenly, everyone else had gone very still and very quiet. But the dam had opened and there was nothing to do but let it flow.

\- AND HIS NAME WAS SEAN AND HIS BLOOD WAS EXACTLY LIKE ANY OF OURS HERE! AND DO YOU KNOW HOW I KNOW THAT? BECAUSE I SAW IT! I SAW IT SPLASHED ALL OVER THE WALL WHEN HE WAS KILLED RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!

I heard my own voice echo around the silent pitch, and realised I was shaking and panting and moist was pooling in my eyes.

I didn't even pick up my broom. Pushing a couple of them roughly out of my way, I darted to the locker room. I barely had time to lock myself in the bathroom before my breathing became completely erratic and I broke down in sobs.

After a while, I can't tell exactly how long, only that it was after the locker room outside had finally gone completely quiet, there was a knock on the bathroom door. I continued brushing, or rather, assaulting my poor, innocent hair with a brush, and ignored it. They insisted.

\- Go away, Archie! – I cried angrily – And if you go blabbering to Daphne again, I swear…

\- It's Draco.

Even worse! I huffed and resumed mistreating my scalp, hoping he would go away. Preferably before I became bald.

\- Are… are you alright? – he asked, rather awkwardly.

\- Oh, why do you care? – I snapped – Like that kind of stuff is not your favourite pastime!

Silence. It lasted so long, I believed he really had gone away. He hadn't.

\- Professor Dumbledore. – he eventually said quietly.

\- What?

\- Dumbledore. The first person I saw… you know…

After a long moment, I found myself going to sit by the door. There was no sound from the other side, but something told me he was still there.

\- He was my Potions partner. – I told the door – The Felix Felicis, I had been working with him, when I won it. It probably saved my life.

There was a small thud, like he too had just sat down, on the other side. Then harsh exhaling, and then:

\- I was supposed to do it, you know.

I did. I had been at the trial, after all. But I didn't say anything.

\- Always hated the man.

I'd known that, too. It was one of the things he'd been extremely vocal about in the unbidden, recurrent speeches he used to be keen to give to the entertainment of the whole Common Room.

\- And he knew what I was doing. He'd known all along.

His tone was quiet, strained, as though he was struggling between the effort it took and the release it was to get the words out. There was another pause, and then he spat, bitterly:

\- And he knew I'd fail, too. And he felt sorry for me! I was about to… And he wanted to protect me! But then the others were there… And then Snape came and… finished it…

Another moment of silence. When it didn't seem like he was going to say anything more, I told him in turn:

\- I knew her. The woman who did it. I'd known her for years…

I didn't tell him she had been my oldest friend's mother, though. I hadn't even told Lottie, and I wasn't going to give anyone any more reason to judge her and spurn her.

\- And then she tried to protect me, get me out of there… But there were giants thrashing the grounds… She didn't make it…

More silence. For a while, we just sat there, on each side of the door. No tears to wipe, no backs to pat, no hands to hold. None of us tried to say that everything was okay now, that it was just a bad dream. And that was somewhat freeing in itself, not having to put on a smile and say that yes, of course everything was okay.

It was me who eventually spoke first:

\- The wand under the pillow was not a bad idea.

\- Yeah.

\- But I find the most effective is to take it all out on those Bludgers.

He actually chuckled at that.

\- Yeah, I've noticed you are quite ruthless with that bat.

\- Well, I've been feeling like hitting things a lot, lately, so I figured I'd make something useful of it.

\- Well, keep up that spirit for this weekend's game, won't you?

I fully intended to.

* * *

I already woke up that Saturday morning wanting to slap my brain for waking me up before the sun had even risen. And then I seriously considered smashing the sausage trey on my sister's head at breakfast, when she kept piling one after another on my plate and all but force-feeding me like a one-year-old. I mean, I was already having trouble keeping down my simple, ordinary toast with blueberry jelly!

Then, as our team made its way to the pitch, the closer we got, and the better view I had of the stands crowding like the Hogwarts population had multiplied by a dozen overnight, the more I wanted to crawl into a hole and curl up there for the rest of the week. Or month.

I was so out of it, I put on my Quidditch robes inside out. And then backwards. And everyone else must have been either so focused on the game, or so nervous about it themselves, that they didn't even snicker.

Malfoy said a few words, of which I heard exactly none. Then everyone put on their Quidditch faces, otherwise known to the other Houses as stereotypical Slytherin sneers, and we filed out onto the pitch. I made sure to stay behind the sturdy figures of my teammates, proactively minimising the embarrassment, lest I should do something as ungainly as trip on my broom. Which I did. Twice.

Unfortunately, my human shield quickly dispersed, as the adversary team also appeared on the pitch and they unsurprisingly engaged in a snarling and hissing competition while the two Captains very grudgingly shook their hands.

\- Hey! – Ginny Weasley exclaimed, her eyes falling on me as she and Draco quickly stepped back away from each other as though the other had a contagious disease – You're the girl who bumped into me the other day after practice!

\- Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I can be terrible clumsy, sometimes. – I replied, in my most innocent tone.

\- Yeah right! – she spat, eyeing me suspiciously – You are up to something!

\- Sometimes a bump really is just a bump. Not all of us are evil masterminds with second intentions, you know.

And as final touch, I extended my hand and with the friendliest smile I could muster, said:

\- I'm Tori.

She regarded me shrewdly, from my small, scrawny build, to my wide blue eyes, to my perfectly adorable pigtails. Yeah, those had been deliberately agreed between me and Mr. Captain. And they seemed to be working, because the red-head ended up taking my hand, saying:

\- I'm Ginny. Sorry for starting off accusing you like that. It's just that I realised I seemed to have misplaced something around that time. But nevermind, I've found it.

\- That's alright.

As the whistle was blown and we kicked off into the air, I noticed Mr. Captain glance at me with a slightly intrigued, slightly amused expression, before shooting higher to soar searchingly above the game.

Somehow, blocking out the thought of hundreds of pairs of eyes watching from the surrounding stands turned out not to be as hard as I'd anticipated. Or, at least, it paled in comparison with being in the middle of a real match, facing a real adversary, with the real responsibility of competing with two rival players for the control of the Bludgers and keep the very real iron balls from knocking people off their brooms.

And it was a very serious responsibility, too. Once, my heart nearly froze in my chest, as I darted as fast as I could, and for a couple of terrible split seconds, thought I wouldn't be able to reach in time the heavy black ball whizzing straight at Archie's head.

Not to mention the sheer precision and control it took to successfully steer those potentially deadly Bludgers in a way that disrupted the adversary's plays without seriously wounding anybody. I think I wasn't doing such a terrible job, having managed to dispel their Chasers from a dangerously advancing Hawkshead Attacking Formation, about fifteen minutes into the game.

Though my confidence was somewhat shaken when another of my Bludgers hit hard on the side of one of those Chasers, who'd suddenly made a sharp turn to try to intercept Zabini's pass to Laughalot. As the boy nearly lost the grip on his broom and did a precarious zigzag, I noticed that he was the Gryffindor boy who'd appeared with Parvati and Lavender at the battle and taken on the Death Eater that had been coming my way. His robes read "Thomas" across the back.

\- Tori! – Malfoy cried sharply, minutes after that, a couple feet away – Stop looking like you've just clubbed a puppy to death! This is a game, it's supposed to be rough!

He never saw my answering nod, as he suddenly shot downward at a vertiginous speed. By the way the Gryffindor Seeker also dashed in the same direction, I guessed they'd spotted the Snitch. At the same time, I spotted the furious Bludger flying like a cannonball toward them.

I dove, too, and managed to reach it mere feet above their cutthroat race. But I must still have been thinking about that puppy, because the vicious iron ball almost instantly returned to its trajectory. And that's when it happened.

I was about to swing my bat to strike the Bludger again, when a hideously disfigured ghostly mask of a grimace loomed with a bloodcurdling growl right in front of my eyes. Next second, I was enveloped in a lung-freezing, heart-stopping shock of iciness and, with a scream that congealed on my lips, I lost the grip on my broom and fell into the open air.

* * *

The first thing I felt was pain. Everywhere. I remember thinking stupidly that that must be what being a punching bag would feel like.

Then I remembered I was not an inanimate object and should, therefore, be able to process other sensory information. Slowly, I became aware of a sterile-clean smell, then of a vague murmuring, and finally, squinting my eyes open, of a blinding whiteness. I immediately shut them again, but the damage was done.

\- Her eyes moved just now! – my cousin's overly enthusiastic voice resounded like a giant gong inside my skull – She's waking up! She's waking up!

\- No, no I'm not. – I tried to protest, but I'm sure came out in an imperceptible mumble.

The previously distant, vague murmuring was turning into a bit of urgent hustling and fussing that sounded to me like cannon shots. And then above that, my sister squealed:

\- Tori! Tori, can you hear me?

\- Yeah, way too loud…

I think I heard a few chuckles at that. Not Daphne's though. I could picture the roll of her eyes, as she leaned close over my bed, prattling in a rather shrill voice a string of words I didn't even try to decipher.

I caught Jasper's voice, then Draco's, and then Daphne snapping angrily at them. Then Pansy said something, and Tracey as well. And then Lottie was there, too, suggesting they allowed me some air.

\- Air… - I muttered, as I struggled to pull myself into a sitting position – Air's good…

\- Out of my way! Everybody who doesn't require medical attention out!

That was Madam Pomfrey, the matron, approaching with a few flasks in her hand.

\- I'm her sister! – Daphne protested, digging her heels while her friends, Lottie and my team were thrown out of the hospital wing.

The nurse fed me a bunch of concoctions, then thoroughly examined my pupils, my reflexes, my sight, my hearing and my speech faculties. Then my breathing and my heart rate. When she was satisfied that these were all within normalcy, she proceeded to feed me a few more potions and concoctions.

Meanwhile, my sister stood there, looking grim. Behind her, I caught a glimpse of Draco, sat at the foot of the bed in front of mine with his arm in a sling.

\- What happened to you? – I asked.

\- Bludger.

Right. The one I had failed to knock away, most certainly.

\- Sorry…

\- Why are you apologising?! – Daphne cried angrily at me – You were the one with a concussion and five broken ribs that nearly punctured your lung! And it's all his fault!

I saw Draco's face go even paler at her words and his head hang sheepishly. There was something so wrong and unfamiliar about such a sight, that I couldn't help exclaiming:

\- Daph!

\- It's true!

\- It is not! I was the one who got spooked and lost the grip on my broom!

\- You were attacked by a ghost that he brought to the pitch! – my sister went on relentlessly.

Her tone was rising, and my head was buzzing and I really was in no condition to argue with her stress-induced misguided sense of justice. So I let my head rest back on my pillow and my eyes flutter shut and whispered, wearily:

\- Thank you for checking on me, big sister. I'm getting a bit tired, I think I'll take a nap, now.

It took a few long moments, but she left. I said, somewhat apologetically:

\- She can be a bit overprotective…

Draco didn't say anything, so, after another moment, I felt the need to.

\- So… did you catch it? The Snitch, I mean.

He took so long to answer that I thought he simply wasn't going to. He finally shook his head and then said slowly, not meeting my eye:

\- I almost got it, but the Bludger threw me off and Creevey outstripped me…

So we really had lost the game because of me. I cannot express how embarrassed and humbled I felt right then. I mean, after trying so stubbornly to claim my place on the team, and then even arrogantly moralising and questioning the Captain, I'd gone and failed everybody. No wonder he couldn't look me in the eye, I was disappointment incarnate.

\- Then I heard Crabbe laughing… - Draco continued, his tone growing strained and tortured – and turned around to see you plummeting to the ground… He should've gone directly for me… You had nothing to do with it…

He was glaring at the floor and seemed to be chewing on the rest of the words that were trapped in his throat.

\- You were lying there on the floor… For a moment, I thought you'd… - he sighed heavily and, raking his hands through his hair, mumbled - I just… I should've caught you… And I should've found him…

Once again, I was completely at a loss what to say. I had absolutely no idea what I could possibly do or say to relieve even a tiny bit of such a burden. All I knew was that it wasn't right for him to have to carry it all on his shoulders. I mean, so he had been no hero, or the most pleasant person on Earth at times, but did that mean his hurt was any less real, or human, or deserving of relief and peace?

\- Draco…

He slowly looked up, though still not quite meeting my eye. I hesitated, still not quite sure what to say. Then tried:

\- I don't blame you. And… I might not know what you have or haven't done, or why you did or didn't do it… but I don't think anyone should be held accountable for not doing the impossible.

By the way he scowled at the place above my head, I feared I had gone too far, crossed some line, been too impertinent or intrusive. I felt my cheeks heat and looked rather sheepishly at my hands on my lap. Then he spoke, and his tone was so low, I had to strain my ears to understand his words:

\- Potter did… He found a way out of the Room… and came back for us…

\- You came back for me.

At that, his eyes finally snapped to mine. And by the look on his face, I could tell he had never before comprehended the depth of my gratitude.

Then Madam Pomfrey was back, to check that I wasn't overexerting myself, and inquiring Draco about his arm. When she'd ascertained that all the bones were sturdily mended and the limb's mobility had been completely restored, she dismissed him with the assurance that the bruising should disappear in the next few hours. I, however, was not allowed the same luck.

\- Young lady, you will be spending at least one night here, in observation. – the nurse said adamantly when I asked to be released, assuring her that I was feeling perfectly well.

She wouldn't even hear of it when I tried to ask for my sketchbook to while away the time. Too much intellectual strain for my post-concussed brain.

\- Will you be alright? – Draco asked me before heading out.

\- I suppose as alright as one can be, bed-bound against their will for about twenty-four hours.

I could swear I saw a hint of amusement in his expression. Then he suggested:

\- I can ask your sister to come keep you company for a while…

\- And get the whole BFF pack in here to scar me for life some more with their overly detailed boy talks? You must really hate me!

At that, he actually chuckled. A completely natural, genuine chuckle, too. Not like the cold, superior cackle or the scathing, contemptuous laughter that used to be his trademark.

\- Don't take it personally. – he said - I generally hate or at the very least despise everyone, you know.

\- I think I resent that. I'm not everyone!

\- No, I suppose you're not.

And that, I believe, was the first time I realised Draco Malfoy was capable of a killer crooked smile. Which, as it turned out, was only the first of a series of heart-stirring realisations about his physiognomy I was to come to throughout the next… well, let's go with months.

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**A/N: I can never say this enough, thank you for your support. Your feedback is very much appreciated and I hope this story will continue to interest and entertain you. Thank you very much.**

**Good reads, everyone :D**


	6. Chapter 5 - New Experiences

**A/N: Just a quick word to tell you all a giant thank you for your lovely reviews. I cannot tell you how happy your kind words made me.**

**So, in appreciation for your support and encouragement, I thought I'd try and bring you an update a little faster. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and that the story will continue to interest and captivate you.**

**Thank you so much and good reads, everyone! :D**

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**Chapter 5**

I've never been one for much sentimentalism, as I'm sure you've perceived by now. That is not to say I am incapable of feeling or immune to emotions, obviously. But it's just not in my nature to wear my heart on my sleeve and let it jump into the open sky like it's a Firebolt Plus with an extra safety Brake Charm.

Well, not on a regular basis, anyway. I think it's been ascertained that there have been occasions when the rational side of my brain decided to let less experienced neurons take the wheel.

But, anyway, you can understand my scepticism toward my sister's Shakespearean sort of conception of romance and relationships. I could not comprehend such a complete, unwavering and irrevocable devotion that seemed to strip her of all appreciation for anything but Theo. Which led to my outrage at discovering her plans for the Christmas holidays.

It was the evening before we were to take the train home. The Common Room was buzzing, with everyone in good spirits, what with the end of classes and the holidays and everything. I was sitting at a table with Lottie, Jorge and Jasper, who had basically imposed himself in our midst to pick on me.

Admittedly, he had toned down the teasing since that situation with the sketchbook and my ensuing outburst about Sean's death. But he could still be a bit annoying, so the reason I was playing along with his jokes and making silly banter was mostly to distract Lottie. Not that she wasn't doing a good job at not letting it show, but I knew it being the first Christmas without her parents was, quite understandably, dimming her holiday spirit.

Then at one point, the passage on the wall opened and in came Daphne and her friends. They were all giggling and whispering between them, and when they passed by my table, I heard Tracey gush wistfully:

\- I'm so jealous right now, Daph! Christmas in Paris must be so romantic…

That instantly got my attention, and I turned around to see my sister sharply nudge her friend after glancing warily in my direction.

\- Daph, - I called, looking intently at her face – are we going on some holiday trip I don't know about?

She stopped, turned to face me with one of her typical cover-up smiles and said:

\- No, little sister, we are not.

\- Then we are going home for Christmas, aren't we?

She didn't answer right away and, for a moment, I thought she was going to lie to my face. Then she stuck out her chin and replied coolly:

\- Of course. Only home may no longer refer to the same location for the two of us.

\- What! So suddenly your home is in Paris, is it?

She pursed her lips and glanced quickly around, where some people were starting to notice our exchange and looking up curiously. Pansy gave her a significant look and the whole group walked away to go sit on the sofas with the rest of the eighth years, without another word to me.

It's funny how they had no problem being the centre of attentions when they were criticising other people and laughing at someone else's expense, but were so scrupulous about keeping their own dirty laundry out of the public's eye.

Of course I wasn't interested in making a scene, either, so I went quietly back to my game. When most of the students had gone to bed and only the few usual stragglers and insomniacs remained in the Common Room, I took the chance to insist on the subject.

I think Daphne had been dawdling about in the hopes that I would eventually leave for bed and thus let her off the hook. But at one point, Pansy got up in a huff, apparently aggrieved by some remark Draco had made, and the rest of the gang followed suit.

I quickly got up from my own seat and managed to intercept my sister right before she reached the corridor to the dormitories. Pulling her aside by the wrist, I demanded, quietly:

\- You never answered my question.

The other girls hung back. Tracey was looking slightly contrite, Pansy was puffing irritably and the others appeared mostly condescendingly bored. As did Daphne, who went on to ask with a roll of her eyes:

\- What question, Tori?

\- Your home is in Paris now?

\- Home is where the heart is, little sister.

She was really getting on my nerves by then, as you can imagine. So I glared at her and retorted angrily:

\- Your heart is in your chest! Your brain, however, appears to have moved out from your head!

First she glared at me and shook off my hold on her wrist. Then she went back to the usual non-argument she'd dismissed me with whenever I questioned her actions, especially where her boyfriend was concerned:

\- Don't try to preach about things you don't yet understand, little sister…

\- Little sister, my witchy behind! I'm not the one acting like a petulant child, here! – I snapped – You haven't written to Mum or Dad once in the entire term! And now you're planning to run away again! On Christmas!

Daphne's cheeks were turning red and her eyes flashed as she hissed:

\- I have nothing to say to them, after the horrible things they said…

\- What about the horrible things you said?! – I countered briskly – Or the horrible way you acted all summer?! There are other people around you besides Theo, you know!

\- I'm not having this argument with you, Tori! I don't have to apologise for how I feel!

Merlin's beard, was she infuriating! And how come Pansy and the rest of the gang had been in on it and done nothing to dissuade her? I thought friends were supposed to be there for you and keep you grounded, not simply giggle stupidly and let you go through with your wildest antics.

\- No, but you do have to remember that how you feel is not all that matters!

\- No, I suppose you're right. – Daphne replied coldly – How Theo feels matters, too.

\- Ugh! You know what? – I cried – I wish he had stayed in Azkaban!

I knew I'd crossed the line the moment the words left my lips. A loud smack carried around the silent still Common Room as Daphne's hand came down across my cheek.

I don't know what winded me the most, the blow, or the fact that my sister had hit me. In front of her friends and mine, at that.

I mean, we'd had our history of disagreements and falling-outs throughout the years. We're sisters, so that's a given. Sometimes, when we were little, we'd gone as far as to pull each other's hair, and occasionally we might exchange a couple of shoves. But that was it. We'd never raised a hand against each other.

Even our Mum had never hit us. And Dad only had once, when I had been about five and Daph seven and, for some reason, we'd decided that his study was the ideal place to play hide and seek with a swarm of Cornish Pixies. Now that I think about it, maybe that had something to do with the long-term flatness of my bum.

Anyway, back to the story, I completely refused to acknowledge my sister's existence for the rest of the holidays. Okay, I suppose that's not exactly what happened, considering that the very next morning, when the train arrived in London, I waited, looked everywhere around, watched all her friends coming out, and realised she was nowhere to be seen.

\- She never boarded. – Pansy told me when I questioned her – The plan was always to meet Theo in Hogsmeade and set off together from there.

I swear I could almost hear my Mum's heart breaking right then. We honestly thought we would never see my sister again.

Dad had half a mind to go to the Ministry and book a Portkey to Paris to look for her himself. But, for one, that would mean alerting them for the fact that Daphne had run away with a fugitive, in the first place. After all, Theo was supposed to be on parole.

Second, we didn't even know for sure they had gone to Paris. Most likely they'd changed the destination, or never really intended to go there to begin with. It was the smartest thing to do, considering all of her friends knew, and I had ended up finding out, about Paris.

And third, Dad would have to take a leave from his job at St. Mungo's at a very crucial time, when major rearrangements were taking place. Remember the extension of the long-term residence ward and the creation of the new one specialised in Dark Magic-related conditions I mentioned were being discussed over the summer? They were underway, full speed ahead, along with a brand new research facility.

Anyway, you can imagine I wasn't in for a very merry Christmas. In fact, if it wasn't the worst Christmas in the history of Christmases at Little Appleton Hall, it was certainly not far down the list.

Even the year before, with the Dark Lord ruling and the climate of terror in all of wizarding Britain, Christmas hadn't felt so gloomy. All the bustle of lights, and food, and all the family reunited had actually been a happy break from the dictatorship and the permanent sense of impending doom back at Hogwarts.

But now, Lottie broke down in sobs while decorating the tree, Daphne's place at the table remained empty, and not even Mum seemed to have the energy to pick us all up and keep us busy. Not that outdoor activities were much of an option, with the veritable blizzard raging on outside almost throughout the whole month.

It is not, therefore, surprising that in the midst of all this stress and lack of release strategies, my nightmares returned with the force of a herd of galloping gargoyles.

And it seemed they were starting to stretch into my waking hours, because in no possible real life scenario would Dad make me still attend the hospital's Annual Christmas Gala, right? Wrong.

It was against my will and with a considerable amount of protest on my part, that I let my Mum pull a set of blue-grey dress robes down my head and do my hair into a posh side pony-tail sort of do, on that cold and dark December evening. When she started advancing toward me with an endless pallet of lipsticks, eyeshadows, eyeliners and other assorted slow torture instruments, I positively reached for my wand.

\- Honestly, Astoria! – Mum snapped impatiently.

See the use of the extended form of my name? That's a very reliable measure of the degree of her annoyance, so I gritted my teeth and let her work her magic on my face.

\- It's high time you stopped with these petty fits and started acting like a lady! You're not five years old! – Mum scolded while she applied one of her miraculous Skin Refreshing concoctions on my face.

Looking at my reflexion in the mirror, I had to admit I could plainly see where she was coming from with her insistence on the cosmetics. I was looking so pale and gaunt, my clear blue eyes appeared too big for my face, and the dark circles underneath them spread nearly to the middle of my cheeks. Even the five lonely freckles randomly spattering my nose stood out like coffee stains on a brand new white dress.

I was thinking if I showed at the hospital with a face like that, they'd probably have me committed and investigate my parents for child neglect, when Mum went on in her lecture to say:

\- In less than a year, you will be an adult witch! There will be no more tolerance for not behaving accordingly, for eschewing the social duties required of a woman of your position, for continuing to hide away with your sketchbook whenever you're supposed to be socialising and establishing the connections that will define your future!

I could feel my heart begin to pound in my rib cage, as distressed as can be understandably expected of a living entity enclosed in a cage. It was the sort of conversation to which I usually replied "Yes, Mother", sneaked away with my Comet 290 as soon as I could, and let Daphne tame the socialdzilla. But there was no Daphne this time, and Mum seemed to be thinking along those lines, as she said:

\- And with your sister… gone… - it was impossible to miss the crack in her voice at that – it will be entirely up to you to lead this family's name in the new generation.

Her words were still ringing in my head by the time we arrived at the reception hall in the administrative wing of the hospital. Members of the hospital board, heads of department, prominent patrons and eminences of the magimedical field milled around conversing among each other.

I noticed Mr. Patil and his wife, though the twins were not with them. I supposed that now that they were both adults and Parvati was even starting her own career as an Auror, they were no longer expected to accompany their parents to social functions, but rather make their own social networks. Mr. Brown, Lavender's father, didn't seem to be present, though I suppose that could hardly come as a surprise. I'm not sure what I should or what I would've managed to say to him if I saw him.

Whom I was rather surprised to see there was Draco Malfoy and his mother. And I couldn't help but notice how strikingly elegant he looked in his dark green dress robes.

On second thought, I supposed it made sense that they were there, considering the Malfoys were probably the biggest donors, sponsoring the majority of the renovation and extension works taking place at St. Mungo's at the time. And with Mr. Malfoy in house arrest, I supposed it fell on Draco the responsibility to represent the family. For good and for bad, as it seemed.

It was impossible not to notice the coldness and disdain with which he and his mother were being regarded by the other attendees. So much so, that it would seem like some sort of Repelling Charm had been placed around where they stood, somewhat to the side. Only the head of the Financial Department, a rotund wizard with avid little eyes and unctuous manners, appeared bold enough to cross the invisible barrier. And even his smarmy smile seemed much too cold and forced.

Draco's eyes met mine and I smiled at him and gave a small wave. I could swear the corners of his mouth turned upward and his cold grey eyes warmed a little as he nodded curtly back at me.

I was considering whether or not to just go over there and cross the invisible boundary, when I heard my name. I turned around to find my Dad, who had been dragging us around to greet people, talking animatedly with a stout, pompous-looking wizard with greying blondish hair.

\- Tori, - Dad said genially – you remember Mr. Macmillan, Head of the Department of Magical Bugs and Diseases. His son, Ernest was in Daphne's year at Hogwarts.

I greeted Mr. Macmillan and his wife and politely inquired after his son.

\- Oh, he's doing very well. – the man replied, with undeniable pride – He is very committed to his Auror training. Even this morning he left in a hurry after breakfast for a study group with Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom and Ms. Patil. They've all been good friends for some years, even started together that secret resistance group, Dumbledore's Army.

I'd heard about that. It was a teenagers gang Potter had started in order to defy Professor Umbridge. I personally hadn't found her too bad. Sure, she spoke in an irritatingly sugary voice and addressed us like we were all five-year-olds. And she pushed the other teachers' buttons and tried to control and issue decrees about every little thing in the school. And I suppose some people were extremely bored with her D.A.D.A. classes, which were solely theoretical. But if you followed the rules and played nicely with her, you had nothing to worry about. Compared to the Carrows, she was a sweet lady who wore too much pink and with a rather excessive fondness for cats.

\- And I see dear Daphne seems to have had to dispense with our company, as well. – Mr. Macmillan went on, in his pompous manner – I trust everything is well with her?

I wasn't sure I was the only one who noticed the smiles on my parents' faces falter momentarily at that, and how my Dad's voice sounded just a little too joyful to be believable, as he said:

\- Oh, she too is all grown up, now, and starting to find her own wings.

\- Well, it is the natural course of life, isn't it? – the other replied, clearly having picked up on Dad's ill-disguised emotion and misinterpreting it for fatherly bittersweet nostalgia – But I'd say your loss is somewhat eased with this charming young lady you seem to have gained to take her stead.

And he smiled warmly at Lottie, who had, very bravely I should think, accepted to come along rather than stay alone at home.

\- My sister cannot be replaced like a household appliance that's no longer performing its function!

The words must have bypassed my conscious brain and materialised directly on my lips, clearly.

Mum and Dad's faces went as red as the mistletoe berries adorning the centre pieces on the tables, and Mr. Macmillan's was turning a deep shade of pink as he stammered an apology and assured that he had not meant to imply otherwise. After much awkward apologising and mitigating between my parents and the Macmillans, my Mum came out with:

\- I hope you will join us for supper, one of these days, Mr. and Mrs. Macmillan. It's been too long since we've had the pleasure of your company at Little Appleton Hall. And I do hope dear young Ernie will be able to come, our Tori would be delighted to see him again.

That's when, for some reason, all the oxygen in the room decided to Vanish. I muttered a strangled excuse about needing the bathroom, and flew out the door to the cold, silent, deserted, oxygen-filled corridor outside.

After a few minutes, there was the tell-tale momentary eruption of voices and laughter from the hall, indicating the opening and closing of the door. I braced myself for the "Astoria Prudence Genevieve!" level scolding I was sure to be coming my way.

Well, it did happen, make no mistake, complete with "This is not how we raised you!" and "Where did we go wrong to have both daughters disrespecting us in this manner?!" and so on. But not until we were all back in the privacy of our home.

At the moment, it was another rather familiar, drawling voice that reached me:

\- You know, I once saw someone look almost as green as you do now. Then he started to vomit slugs.

Draco Malfoy leaned on the wall in front of me, regarding me with something like mild amusement on his face. I looked down to his perfectly polished black shoes and made a gagging sound, and then chuckled smugly when he quickly recoiled his feet. He chuckled too, and then we both fell silent.

\- My parents are trying to set me up with Ernie Macmillan. – I blurted out after a couple of moments, and suddenly the corridor too seemed to be short on oxygen.

Draco gave a grimace of disgust and I felt the need to say, defensively:

\- I mean, I suppose he's alright… He seems smart and refined, and comes from an upstanding, traditional wizarding family… It's just that…

I trailed off, awkwardly. That what? That my Mum's words about me becoming a full-grown woman and having to embrace my social responsibilities were getting rather deafening in my head? That she'd just proffered a simple dinner invitation, but in my mind wedding bells were chiming like a funeral march? That my sister had not needed Mum and Dad to set her up, like some lost cause social inept that couldn't get a move on on her own?

\- It's just all too much, sometimes. – I finished, with a sigh.

And then I realised how pettish I must have sounded. I mean, there I was, complaining about my parents compelling me to interact with a perfectly decent boy with whom I had absolutely no problem aside from my parents wanting me to interact with him, to someone who'd been forced by the most gruesome means to do the most gruesome things, and with whom everyone seemed more than reluctant to interact.

Looking up at him, I noticed the dark circles under his steely grey eyes, and how lines on his pale face told of worries beyond his age. I felt an inexplicable sudden impulse to reach out and brush my fingers across his cheek. Instead, I asked quietly:

\- How are you?

He regarded me with a sharp expression and then, looking away and fixing his eyes on a painting of Mungo Bonham healing a child afflicted with an elephant's trunk for a nose, said:

\- You're the first person to ask me that in quite a long time, you know.

He said it in a flat tone, so that I still hadn't figured out whether he was annoyed or appreciative that I'd asked, when he went on:

\- I used to find it a very irksome question. It's completely pointless, you see, because whoever asks is never really interested in the answer, and I'm never really interested in giving it. No one really means it, see.

\- I mean it…

He eyed me shrewdly again and then with a tiny hint of a smile replied:

\- You do, don't you? – then his smile grew ruefully and he shrugged, saying – Well, no one's tried to hex me yet, so I suppose so far so good.

\- And you decided to come hide in the corridor, before someone remembers to whip their wands out, I see.

He sneered bleakly at my playful remark, and then said:

\- I followed you out here, actually. There's something I think you should know.

I'm sure my face was a question mark. He seemed to hesitate for a second, and then went on to say:

\- Your sister and Nott… they're staying with me, at Malfoy Manor.

\- What! Why?

\- He's not really allowed to leave the country, you know. I invited him over, so he wouldn't have to spend the holidays at his manor, alone. He brought Daphne along.

\- He kidnapped her, more like… - I grumbled, and of course I regretted my words as soon as I said them.

It was clearly just anger and betrayal talking. Of course I knew perfectly well Theo would never hurt Daphne. I had never had any problem with him, and had actually always found him quite gentle and sensible. It was the way my sister had been acting because of him that truly annoyed me.

\- It hasn't been exactly easy for him, either, Tori. – Draco said pointedly – Your sister is basically the one person he has left, and… well, I suppose it means a lot to him to have her at his side at a time like this…

Obviously, I knew, or I should have known, that. Theo's Mum had died when he was little, and his Dad, well, we all know his Dad was on the run. His situation wasn't that much different from Lottie's. And I completely sympathised with that, and of course he deserved to have someone by his side through it. But I suppose I sort of resented a bit that, in order for that to happen, my own family had to be put under this much strain and heartache.

\- I know that… but why couldn't he have her at his side at our house?

\- I do rather like to have them there, too, you know.

\- Well then, you can come and stay at our house, too! – I blurted without even thinking what I was saying - We've got plenty of space for everyone! I mean, Lottie and Great-aunt Mathilda are taking up two guest bedrooms, but there's still the spare garret room looking out to the creak, and my bed comes with an Adaptable Extension Charm that allows it to go up to double king size…

I trailed off as a suspicious smirk stretched across Draco's face, and he drawled nastily:

\- Why, Little Tori, have you just invited me into your bed?

You can easily imagine that my face was instantly searing hot to the point that it was a miracle steam wasn't coming out of my ears. Draco threw his head back laughing as I sputtered and stammered to say that I most certainly had not made such an offer.

If he hadn't been laughing at me, I would probably have been very glad that he was finally laughing again. And I would have even appreciated a lot less reluctantly how lovely his laugh was and how handsomely that light-hearted expression suited his fine features. As it was, I simply glared at him and turned to walk away in a huff.

I hadn't gone very far, though, when my brain apparently went into overdrive and I almost forgot how to walk. Because he'd just placed an arm familiarly around my shoulders and my senses were flooded with his warm touch, and the fresh and crisp smell of him, and the proximity of his voice as he chuckled:

\- Oh, sweet innocent Little Tori! How come I never stumbled upon you during the past… five years, is it?

It took a few seconds for my apparently melted brain to re-enable its speech faculties.

\- You did, actually. On my very first week at Hogwarts, you caught me all alone at breakfast and had me peel a bowl of grapes for you because you had supposedly been mauled by some beast and had your arm in a sling.

\- Oh, yeah! – he said, rather dramatically – That oaf Hagrid had brought a vicious hippogriff to class. Nearly cost me the use of my arm!

\- Well, can't have been that bad, because you spent the rest of the meal aiming the pips at my face while you and your buddies laughed your heads off!

He simply squeezed my shoulders slightly and drawled, visibly amused:

\- So you've been carefully hiding from me since then, have you?

\- No, but I haven't gone out of my way to run into you, either.

Before we went back inside the reception hall, I turned to face him and said, seriously:

\- Draco, I have to tell Mum and Dad about Daphne. They're worried sick.

He sighed, seemed to ponder for a moment, and then:

\- Could you, maybe, tell them she's alright without saying where she is?

\- Okay, but you tell her… well, tell her merry Christmas from me, will you?

He eyed me with a strange look, but must've given her my message all the same, and then some. Because on Christmas morning, as Lottie and I joined Archie in the drawing room, Daphne's face popped from among the flames under the mantelpiece.

\- I hope you weren't planning on starting without me! – she said, with a rather apologetic grin.

You see, for as long as I can remember, Christmas morning at our house meant that Daph, me and Archie snuck out of bed basically at dawn and gathered around the tree while everyone else would still be asleep for a good couple of hours, to start tearing through the presents. It was such a fundamental part of my Christmas that Lottie had hesitated outside the door for a couple of minutes.

\- Tori… - she'd said, fidgeting with the sleeves of her robe – I… I hope you know that I would never think of trying to take your sister's place…

I was completely caught by surprise at her words. She'd been a bit more withdrawn for the last couple of days, but I'd assumed she simply missed her parents and needed her space. Now my outburst during the Gala came back to me, and I fully realised exactly how stupid a thing I had said.

\- I know that, Lottie. – I assured her – Just like I hope you know we would never think of trying to take your parents' place. I'm sorry if I made you feel like a stand-in. When I said that my sister is irreplaceable, I mean that the same applies for everyone else in this house. And you have your own place in this house, okay?

That seemed to put her more at ease and we both made our way toward the ten-foot tall Christmas tree, where Archie was already eagerly fishing out the presents with his name on them.

So that's when Daphne's face appeared in the fireplace. I was honestly torn between rushing to throw my arms around her neck (and end up giving the roasted turkey a run for its money, most certainly) and striking her head with the poker.

\- What, is the rest of you too wrapped up around your boyfriend for you to come whole? – I sneered, crossing my arms over my chest.

First, she glared, then she sighed and said:

\- Tori, I cannot say how sorry I am…

\- About what, exactly?

\- The… the slap. I know I should never have…

She broke off as we all recognised the familiar creaking of the door to Dad's study. It seemed this year the younger ones hadn't been the first out of bed, after all.

\- I have to go! – Daphne whispered, urgently.

\- What! Why? They've been terribly worried about you, at least talk to them!

\- I've told you, I've got nothing to say until they learn to respect my choices.

Now I was the one who wanted to slap her. What choice?! It wasn't a choice anywhere but in her head! Couldn't she see that it was her attitude that was mostly fuelling any ill-feeling toward Theo in this house?

\- Merry Christmas to you all! – she went on quickly – And, Tori, you're the best little sister in the world.

\- Well, I do have the best big sister in the world.

\- Yeah? – she grinned.

\- Yeah, so if you find her, tell her I miss her.

Next second, Dad entered the room, still in his dressing gown, asking in an unmistakable hopeful tone if it had been Daphne's voice he had heard. I couldn't even look at him as I shook my head no.

I set to open my presents, still undecided whether my sister's half-visit had turned out to improve or to worsen that Christmas morning. Then I came upon something that certainly put an inexplicable goofy smile on my face for basically the rest of the holidays.

It was wrapped in thick silvery grey paper and had an elegant green bow. The tag read "Little Tori". I scrunched my nose, anticipating another box of tissues or something of the sort from my team. I opened it to find what looked like a shrivelled human hand holding a white candle.

My Dad had gone back into his study, but Lottie and Archie rushed to me as I yelped and dropped the dreadful package to the floor. And that's when I noticed the card.

\- Dear Merlin! – Lottie cried, on spotting the hand.

\- I'm going to call uncle back! – Archie immediately decided, rushing to the door.

\- No, no! Wait! It's okay!

They both looked back at me warily.

\- Tori, that looks like a Dark Artefact…

\- It might be cursed… Why are you smiling like an idiot?

Well, here's what the card said:

_Little Tori,_

_Merry Christmas. _

_You might want to open this in private. I enclose an object called Hand of Glory, which gives light only to the holder. It is a Dark Artefact and may look a bit ghastly, but I promise it won't harm you and I thought you might find it helpful. Because you've mentioned the other girls in your dormitory don't like the lights on at night, that is._

_Anyway, if you really don't like it, you can just send it back, it's fine. I wasn't too keen about consulting your sister on the matter._

_See you at Hogwarts,_

_Draco Malfoy_

I mean, the thing really was ghastly, and I wasn't too sure that its appearance alone wasn't going to defeat the purpose of keeping a light on at night, but it's the thought that counts, right? And clearly, he had been thinking of me and of something I happened to have mumbled weeks and weeks before. So I chose to appreciate the thoughtfulness of the gesture instead of lingering on the sinister and, as I came to realise, potentially problematic nature of the object.

Indeed, the object itself had to remain thoroughly tucked at the bottom of my trunk for the remainder of the holidays. Not so much because of its nightmare-inducing potential, really. Mostly because I couldn't foresee my parents taking too well to the dethroning of my trusted old teddy-bear, Mr. Snuggles, by a severed, shrivelled human hand with shady light-manipulating properties.

And then, as I clambered with my trunk onto the train back to school, it occurred to me that people there weren't likely to take too well to the appalling thing, either. So bottom of the trunk it was, for the foreseeable future. But it's the thought that counts.

* * *

So second term began. And if at the beginning of the first I'd feared I wouldn't be occupied enough, I sure didn't have reason to be worried about that now.

This time, Malfoy didn't lose any time in coming up with a training schedule, and a very rigorous one, at that. Our next game would be against Ravenclaw, on the fourth weekend of February, and he was determined to redeem us from the failure of our first one.

Not that anyone would say anything explicitly, but I knew, and I knew everyone else felt it too, that the blame for that failure rested on my shoulders. So I vowed to myself to give my very bestest in every practice, and even train by myself everyday if I could, and do every possible thing in my power to make up for my previous blunder.

You would not hear me utter a single sound of complaint or protest at having to cross the snow and ice covered grounds basically every other evening, or at having to drag myself out of bed and to the Quidditch pitch pretty much at sunrise every weekend for practices so demanding that my very bones seemed turned to porridge at the end.

You would not see me so much as wince at the blisters in my hands from holding on to the broom and the bat like my life depended on it (which, in a way, it did, if my previous fall had been any indication), or at the cracks on my lips or the cuts and bites on my skin from hours of hurtling through whipping, icy winds.

You would not find my complete and undivided attention waver from the interminable lectures on strategy and tactics and plays Mr. Captain would have us sit through at the beginning or the end, or both, of each and every practice. There wasn't a sound in the world besides that of his voice, as far as my ears were concerned. And my eyes were solely trained on him from the moment his tall, lean figure strode to the writing board at the front of the locker room, to the moment the words "Off you go" left his perfectly chiselled, bewitching lips. Well, and maybe even lingered a couple of moments after that.

But Quidditch was far from being the only reason for my supercrowded timetable. Soon, I was to start Apparition lessons. And besides the extracurricular activities, there were still loads of increasingly demanding schoolwork to get done. Which, as it turned out, was evolving and expanding from the essays and questionnaires and other classical formats, to such things as field trips.

Yep, it's true. And I don't mean Hogsmeade weekends, either. Remember I said that Muggle Studies had remained compulsory, and now comprised of practical lessons as well as seminars?

Well, so far, those practical lessons had basically consisted of experimenting with electric circuits or airplane models to appreciate how Muggles cope without magic, or playing some games that Muggles our age apparently entertained themselves with, like foosball and ping pong. Now, however, the teachers had come up with the idea of launching us directly into the Muggle world.

Indeed, fifth years and above would be spending a whole day wandering the streets of Muggle Glasgow.

Reactions to this announcement varied from excitement and curiosity, to protest and outrage. I confess I was a little bit unnerved. I mean, sure I'd snuck into the Muggle village near our home several times throughout the years. But Little Appleton comprised about twenty houses and was a fifteen minute walk from home. Glasgow, on the other hand, was one of the biggest cities in the country, at least a two-hour train ride from Hogwarts, and I was supposed to spend a whole day there!

Mum and Dad were not too fond of the idea, either. Their reply arrived the very next morning after I wrote to them, and it went on for about fifteen inches of warnings and advice, telling me to heed the Muggles' motorized vehicles, not to accept anything they may try to offer, not to go anywhere alone, etc, etc.

I wasn't the only one feeling slightly uneasy about the "Mingle Trip", as it was referred to within our House. After one Quidditch practice, I arrived at the Common Room to find most of my class gathered around the fire, with serious faces.

\- It's completely mental, throwing us to the Muggles like that! – Eve Nussenbaum was complaining loudly, as I sat on the armrest of Lottie's chair.

\- It's the Mudbloods, I tell you! – Ramona Flint put in, equally indignant – It's all part of their revenge plan, see. They're hoping we get lost and caught by the Muggles, knowing full well we can't do magic outside of school to save ourselves!

The way they were talking, one would think the school was planning on sending us wandless into the Forbidden Forest during the full moon.

\- Well, surely we won't need to save ourselves from anything. – I said – I mean, we're going to a centre of Muggle civilization, I doubt we'll be facing some savage tribe from the middle of the jungle…

They looked at me like I'd just suggested that Trolls who've found their way out of the mountains are perfectly acceptable guests for dinner.

But, honestly, can you blame them? A lifetime of being taught to steer clear of Muggles and the horrible images of all manner of diseases, misery and savagery drilled into our heads all through the previous year by a fanatic Muggle-hater was bound to wire us this way.

The only reason my own worries about this trip weren't as radical as theirs was because of memories of a benign-looking grocer who would give me boxes of Smarties, of a friendly boy singing and playing a guitar on the steps of the church, and of a group of children about my age who would always invite me to play games I'd never heard about, collected throughout my childhood of disobedient ramblings.

When the Hogwarts Express arrived at the station on the day of the field trip, a couple hundred excited teenage witches and wizards filed out and invaded the streets of Glasgow. Well, maybe not all that excited. Quite a few students, and as much as I abhor the prejudice against our House, I'd be lying if I said I didn't notice most of them being Slytherins, showed a bit of reluctance, to say the least.

As I was making my way to the exit, with Lottie and a couple others, I noticed a compartment full of 8th years still sat on their seats. They continued in mindless banter, with magazines and game boards still out, as though in for a few more hours of journey.

Among them was my sister, absorbed in the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_. Yes, she had return to school for the second term. Apparently, Theo and the Malfoys were able to make her see reason, at least where her education was concerned. She had been very scrupulous to avoid our parents at King's Cross, though, and even I only saw her when we were back at school.

In front of her was, unsurprisingly, Pansy Parkinson. And for some reason I couldn't quite explain, I didn't like to see the way she was so brazenly leaning against Draco Malfoy, who was sitting beside her reading the _Daily Prophet_ with a surly expression.

Also for some reason I couldn't understand, I rather impulsively slid open the door to their compartment and, taking care to look only in the direction of my sister, announced:

\- The train has stopped, you know. We've arrived.

Daphne looked up at me, but it was Pansy who replied, making me have to look in her direction against my will.

\- We're not going.

\- You're not going where?

She sighed impatiently and retorted:

\- Outside, obviously. They have no right to make us go mingle with the Muggles, so we're staying here until the train goes back to Hogwarts.

I chose not to say aloud exactly how stupid I thought that decision was, but I'm sure it must've been evident on my face. Turning to my sister, I said, instead:

\- I get why she's scared. I mean, Eve drank a whole bottle of Dizziness Draught just so that Madam Pomfrey would keep her in the hospital wing today. But you, are you chickening out too, or are you just staying because she says so?

Honestly, I don't know where the boldness to say such a thing came from. Probably I was still annoyed with my sister for giving Mum and Dad the cold shoulder.

Anyway, you can imagine my remark didn't go very well. Daphne snapped at me, and Pansy did, too; then Daphne turned on Pansy for shouting at me, and Pansy shouted at her as well; and I tried to sneak out while they were shouting at each other, but Daphne caught me and turned on me again.

\- Where do you think you're going? – she snarled.

\- Out, like everybody else.

\- No, you're not!

\- Yes, I am.

She angrily slapped Blaise Zabini's long legs out of the way to cross the tiny compartment toward me, squealing:

\- I'm not letting my little sister, who can't even perform magic out of school, wander around a huge, unfamiliar city crawling with Muggles, all by herself!

I could feel the heat rise to my face. There she was again, treating me like an incapable, defenceless little girl, and in front of her classmates, at that! Why on earth did I have to come barging into their compartment and picking on her, again?!

\- Well, I'm not asking your permission, Daphne! – I retorted, angrily – And, for your information, I won't be by myself. I'll be with Lottie, who can perform magic, since she's already of age. And I've discovered a Hufflepuff in our year from a town not far from here, whose mother is a Muggle and works nearby. He'll be showing us around.

\- See, Daph, - Pansy said with a smile that was way too sweet to forebode anything nice – Little Tori is not so little anymore. She already has dates with pathetic Hufflepuff half-bloods that show her around the wonders of the Muggle world!

And now my face was positively scalding. Ignoring the sniggers around me, I lifted my chin up and retorted coldly:

\- Yeah, because there's nothing pathetic about a group of full-grown witches and wizards hiding for a whole day inside an empty train, afraid of the big, bad, scary Muggles outside.

* * *

Sitting at a café across the street, sipping on a Coca-Cola which Nate, our half-blood Hufflepuff guide, had ordered for us (well, two Coca-Colas, actually, because Lottie adamantly refused to consume anything Muggle), I saw Daphne, Tracey, Blaise and Goyle leaving the train station.

My eyes were locked out the window for a few more minutes, but the two missing from the group didn't come into view. Somehow, when I went back to the soda, it no longer tasted so good.

Well, basically, I spent the next few hours of the visit stacking up on Smarties and my favourite kind of pyjama tops, that is, rock band t-shirts. And I also took sneak peeks at their sporting equipment (who knew they had the imagination to come up with so many different sports!) and much acclaimed technological devices (okay, I was a little bit impressed with some of those).

Turns out the Muggles have these huge buildings called shopping centres where you can find all kinds of stores, selling all kinds of products. Kind of like Diagon Alley, but indoors. Very practical, I have to admit, especially on cold, rainy days, such as that one.

Having lost our guide, who had gone to have lunch with his mother, Jorge, Lottie and I tried to retrace our way back to the train station. When it came into view and we were relieved that we wouldn't get lost and be left behind, we sat on a street bench eating a few rolls we'd taken from the Slytherin table at breakfast. Lottie was still refusing to consume anything Muggle, see.

Then, my memory's not too clear on the details, but basically I think I needed the bathroom, so I headed to a pub nearby. And who should I find there but Mr. Captain sitting at a table on a dark corner with some drink in his hand. And all by himself.

\- I thought you'd stayed in the train. – I said, as I plopped down on the seat in front of his.

If he was annoyed at my intrusion, he quickly disguised it with a smirk, and retorted:

\- And I thought you said you wouldn't wander about all alone. – narrowing his eyes at me, he added - And into a pub, of all places, Little Tori. Why, aren't you rebellious!

\- Well, you're here, so technically I'm not alone. What are you drinking?

\- Whisky.

And then a sly smirk spread across his face as he challenged, his expression thoroughly amused:

\- Does rebellious Little Tori want a sip?

\- No, thanks. – and his smirk grew smugger. At least until I added, resolutely – I think I'll order something for myself.

And I set to study the menu. There were plenty of beers, which I assumed must be similar to butterbeer. That was familiar enough, but if I wanted to make a statement, that wouldn't do. A column called "Gins" caught my attention and I asked the barman for a "Hendrick's". The man eyed me unconvinced and replied with a bit of a snort:

\- Why don't I bring you a coke, alright?

\- I already tried that. I want a Hendricks!

\- You're lucky I even let you be here, aye, girly? Law says no alcohol…

\- I'm her older brother and I say she can have her drink. – Draco intervened, speaking in a firm, commanding tone and regarding the Muggle down his nose. Not unlike the way one usually addresses house-elves.

Except, unlike house-elves, the man seemed about to protest again. But then a sort of blank expression came over his face and he turned to go fetch my drink. I looked down just in time to see Draco's wand disappearing into his sleeve.

\- What did you do? – I asked him, my voice an urgent whisper.

\- Just a simple Confundus Charm.

I think I literally sighed in relief. I hate myself for even thinking it, but the truth is that, for a moment there, I honestly feared he may have used the Imperius.

\- Won't that get you into trouble?

\- Not if you don't tell on me.

And he winked cheekily at me. I think I forgot how to breathe right then. Well, actually, I think my whole brain forgot how to brain, because my facial muscles were suddenly paralysed in a stupid grin.

Well, my Hendrick's came. I can't say that I liked it much, but I wasn't about to let that on and see the condescending smirk I knew would spread across Malfoy's face. And, truly, the second one seemed to go down more easily.

We chatted. Starting on the obvious topic of Quidditch, we ended up in a quite fervent discussion. I've always been a steadfast supporter of the Hollyhead Harpies, you see, something to which he reacted somewhat disdainfully. He, of course, proudly rubbed on my face how his beloved Montrose Magpies were without question the most successful in League history, with thirty-two League Cups and two European Cups.

It boiled down to something like this:

\- You just don't think girls can be as good as boys in Quidditch! – said I.

\- True. – said he.

\- What about me? You thought I was good enough to make the team! – said I.

\- Yeah, but you seem to be on this sort of mission to prove everyone you're not exactly a girly girl. – said he.

Ouch. You can imagine I went on to call him a misogynistic prick. And he said I was an insecure little girl. And then I thought I was about to prove him right by starting to cry, but instead burst into inexplicable giggles. And he started to laugh, too, and soon we were both overcome with incomprehensible, uncontrollable mirth.

I don't even know exactly how things escalated from there, but the truth is that, at some point, there was music blaring from an old jukebox or something.

You remember I've said I'm not much for dancing? Well, there's formal, elegant, ballroom kind of dancing, which I absolutely abominate to a point that I'm sure for years my boggart had taken the form of me trying to accomplish it.

And then there's dancing that's not so much dancing as jumping and shaking your arms and legs, and other body parts, in that completely barmy and embarrassing way you attempt only in the privacy of your room. And most certainly never, ever, ever, in front of innocent bystanders who did nothing to deserve having such a disturbing spectacle thrust upon them. Like, say, in a pub.

Yep, that happened. And worse, I'm pretty sure it was my idea, because I have a vague recollection of a conversation that went something like this:

\- Oooh, I know that song! – said I.

I don't even remember what song it was.

\- Let's dance! – said I, and such was my excitement that I was apparently bouncing on the balls of my feet and tugging him by the sleeve.

Nobody else was dancing.

\- I'm a Malfoy! – said he, without budging.

I looked around at the rest of the people in the pub and, pointing at Mr. Captain, announced for all to hear:

\- He's a Malfoy! – and when I got nothing but a couple of mildly amused glances in return, I said to him – See? Nobody cares.

He chuckled at me, but tugging my hand back, advised, very sensibly, I recognise in hindsight:

\- Tori, will you sit down and behave…

\- Who are you, my dad? – I protested – Come on! There's no Malfoys or Greengrasses here, no Purebloods, or Slytherins, or Death Eaters, or any labels at all! It's just us!

I won't even attempt to describe the atrocious display we put on. Not that I even remember it clearly in its full extent. There was a lot of jumping, and air guitar playing and hair shaking, and then Draco even twirled me around a bit. And that's when I had to rush to the bathroom, with the gin wanting to come back out the way it had gone down.

I was still quite a bit lightheaded by the time Draco gingerly helped me settle down across two seats in an empty compartment of the Hogwarts Express.

\- You're a bit of a lightweight, aren't you? – he asked, and I could hear the smirk in his tone, even though I had my eyes tightly shut, trying to picture calm, soothing tropical beaches in my mind's eye.

\- Shut up. I'm trying to sleep, here.

But just as I said it, the train gave a particularly sharp jolt and my eyes flew open as my hand flew to my mouth.

\- You alright?

\- Holy Merlin's bum, are we on the Hogwarts Express or on a bloody rollercoaster?!

Chuckling, he changed seats from the one across from me to the one at my head.

\- Come here. – he said.

And that's how I ended up curled up against Draco Malfoy's side, with his arm around my shoulders, soothingly stroking my hair.

As far as I could tell, the rest of the ride was indeed an afternoon nap on the beach, with the warmth radiating from his body like a tropical sun. A particularly handsome sun, with a heartbeat and breathing in time with mine, and smelling deliciously of green apples and freshly polished broom handles. And I think I must've said that part aloud, because my tropical sun chuckled and told me to shut up and sleep the alcohol off.

Well, I don't know exactly how, or when, or why it happened. The truth is that, somehow, somewhere around that time, I found my sketchpad invaded with drawings of silvery-grey eyed, platinum-blond haired, pale pointy-faced someones. And then not just my sketchpad, but my dreams were also invaded with them. They appeared from the middle of the oncoming monsters and guided me safely away. And even in my waking hours, I found myself acutely sensitive to their presence, to the sound of their voice, to the feel of each and every littlest accidental touch.

Until one day it all hit me like riding a new Firebolt out of control into a brick wall. And such was the force of the impact that my head suddenly decided little accidental touches were no longer enough.


	7. Chapter 6 - Taints

**Chapter Six**

In my experience, impulsive actions have generally two possible outcomes: it all happens for the best and you end up with an impressive story to tell your friends, or it blows up in your face and you end up sheepishly patching up what's left of your pride, your dignity, and whatever else got in the middle of the mess.

I like to think of myself as generally cool, calm and collected, as is proper and expected of a witch of my position. Except when I'm not. And that's usually when I end up setting in motion many of the main events that make up the story I'm now sharing with you.

This particular mess, or snowball of messes that ended up crashing down on me like an avalanche, started because of the Hand of Glory. Remember that thoughtful but potentially problematic Christmas present that I had been keeping tucked at the bottom of my trunk?

Although I am not, I admit, the most neatly organised person to ever walk the Earth, I was always very careful not to let that particular item out of its place.

Until one day, when I happened to have misplaced something I was in urgent need of, and in my distress, basically upturned the entire contents of every possible storing place on my side of the dormitory. When my distress was over and I put away all of my jumbled possessions, I apparently wasn't sufficiently cautious in concealing the Dark Artefact in its place.

Mr. Felix, who had developed a fondness for burrowing inside my trunk, must have come across it and decided it was a perfectly suitable cat toy to drag out to the middle of the floor.

You can imagine the shrieking festival that followed its discovery by Eve and Co., whom, just as luck would have it, had some fresh piece of gossip they were eager to discuss, and thus rushed to hole up in our dormitory.

When Lottie and I walked in, mere minutes later, they were all bawling and squealing, nervously standing clustered together on Eve's bed, as though the whole floor had turned to molten lava.

I would've explained to them that there was nothing to be afraid of, and that the object really didn't have to be as sinister as its appearance suggested, but I think I could've more easily made a band of banshees sing a baby to sleep. So I set to collect and re-wrap the object of objection, while Lottie, always the diplomat, attempted to reason with them:

\- Really, there's no reason to panic…

\- THERE'S A HUMAN HAND ON THE FLOOR! – Eve shrieked at her.

Honestly, they'd seen Professor Amycus Carrow demonstrate the Cruciatus Curse on our own schoolmates and other such things in Dark Arts classes all through the previous year, and they were throwing such a fit about this?

\- I know, – Lottie went on, in her reasonable tone – but it's really not as bad…

\- NOT BAD? – it was Ramona's turn to screech – I suppose you think it's perfectly normal to find chopped off body parts laying around, do you?!

And then Eve had to go and say, nastily:

\- Of course she does! What else do you expect from spawn of Death Eaters?

I saw Lottie's face going red, and the obvious effort she was making to hold her pose, blinking hard and clenching her fists. But Eve wasn't put off by that.

\- In fact, I bet she's the one who chopped it off. Trying to follow in mummy's and daddy's footsteps, are you?

\- Shut up, Eve! – I snarled, while Lottie seemed about to crumble on the spot.

\- Bet you've got loads more of those sordid trophies from everyone your parents killed, don't you?

\- LEAVE HER ALONE, THE HAND IS MINE, ALRIGHT?

If I'd thought that would put an end to Eve's tirade, I was sorely mistaken. It only took her a moment to redirect her spiteful accusations at me.

\- Why am I not surprised? – she spat contemptuously – I've always said you were a freak, lurking around on your own, with your head forever stuck in that little scrapbook of yours… I knew you'd turn out a complete psycho sooner or later.

I could feel my anger boiling like a living thing right beneath my skin. My fingers were itching for the wand inside the pocket of my robes, as I stared her down practically with fire in my eyes and hissed:

\- Shut your mouth, Eve, before I shut it for you…

\- What, don't like hearing the truth? – she sneered viciously – Bet you're another one keeping up family traditions. Isn't your sister a convict's mistress?

I saw red. And so did Eve. A burning bright flash of it, directed straight at her face, to be exact.

Well, needless to say, I ended up in Professor Slughorn's office, while she ended up in the hospital wing with a ram's huge curling horn coming out of her mouth in the place of her tongue.

* * *

I swear not seldom did I consider the possibility of my sister having some sort of news feed jinx cast upon the whole school. Such was the case when, that very evening, she and her friends cornered me on my way to the Great Hall for dinner, directly from Professor Slughorn's office.

\- You got yourself in detention?! – she demanded without preamble.

\- How do you know…?

\- Never mind that! This isn't like you, Tori! What in Merlin's name happened?

I shrunk, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible behind a suit of armour, while students passing by headed for dinner took curious glances at the fierce-looking gang encircling me.

The new Head Girl, Hermione Granger, and her friend Ginny Weasley even stopped in their tracks, observing us attentively from a few yards away. No doubt they were considering whether or not to intervene, suspecting another case of Pansy intimidating a helpless younger student for the others' entertainment.

That's probably why I replied with a shrug of my shoulders and a sly smirk, and pushed past them to enter the Great Hall with the most nonchalant expression I could muster. I don't think I could have stood the humiliation of having the two war heroines coming to rescue me from my own sister and her friends.

Of course, I don't know whether even that would compare to the mortification I had no choice but to endure when I broke the news to my Quidditch team, at the following practice.

\- What do you mean, you have detention next Saturday morning?! – Malfoy snarled at me, while I felt the other five pairs of eyes burning into my back – Our match is next Saturday morning!

\- I know…

My voice was barely more than a whisper. His, on the other hand, was like rumbling thunder about to crash.

\- Oh, you know, do you? Then how the hell did you get yourself in detention on Quidditch weekend?!

\- Well, I didn't do it on purpose! – I protested – I just… Well, everybody was a bit on edge. And then Eve started saying some nasty things about Lottie, because of her parents, see… and then about Daphne, because of Theo, you know… And I just… didn't like it… And, she wouldn't shut up, so I… well, I sort of… hexed her…

I mumbled it all in a small voice, staring at my shuffling feet. When unexpected silence seemed to stretch for several moments, I chanced a look up at Mr. Captain. He was regarding me with a thoughtful expression, and when he spoke, his tone sounded surprisingly a bit less aggressive.

\- You better go to Slughorn and convince him to change your detention to any other day. I don't care if you have to volunteer to waiter on his next Slug Club meeting or if you have to write an apology to that Eve and read it on your knees in the middle of the Common Room.

Yeah, like I hadn't already tried that. Okay, maybe not exactly the part about publicly apologising to Eve on my knees. I mean, I do have my dignity, I wasn't about to crawl for someone's forgiveness. Especially not when I was right.

If I hadn't been on my teammates' good books before, on account of my basically losing them the first match and everything, you can imagine how they took to the news of my latest blunder.

All through the practice I had to put up with filthy looks, angry snarls and scathing sneers. Jasper Laughalot, as per usual, went out of his way to make everyone laugh at my expense.

\- It's probably for the best, isn't it, Little Tori? – he said with his typical wily smirk, offhandedly winding one beefy arm around my slender shoulders, as we made our way back into the locker room at the end of the practice – After all, we wouldn't want our precious princess risking getting spooked and falling off her broom again.

Under the ensuing chorus of snickers, I elbowed him sharply on the ribs. He didn't even flinch.

Since I was already in detention anyway, I was seriously considering hexing him as well, by the time he left the locker room with Stuart and Blaise, who were shaking with laughter at the mocking curtseys he was bobbing at me.

\- You know why he acts like that, don't you? – Archie said, sitting beside where I was wand-drying my hair.

\- Yeah, because he's an insufferable prat.

\- An insufferable prat who fancies you.

That was my turn to laugh, obviously. Archie rolled his eyes and remarked in a rather condescending tone:

\- Honestly, Tori, how can you have such a good eye for drawing, and then be completely blind to the obvious things in the three-dimensional plan? No wonder Daph says you're on the emotional level of an eight-year-old!

The little tyke!

\- Oh, so I suppose in that scale, a twelve-year-old must be an expert!

\- I'm thirteen already! – he protested, his petulant tone rather counter-productive. Realising this, he quickly puffed out his chest and added – And I'll have you know I've already snogged Bree Travers twice.

What, seriously?! Well, if even my little cousin had got himself a girlfriend, then I supposed my parents feeling the need to set me up at sixteen didn't seem so absurd. Though it still didn't feel right.

But did Jasper Laughalot feel right, either? I mean, sure he was a strapping bloke who seemed to have confidence and cheek to spare. And everyone knows confidence is key to charm, sometimes even more important than good-looks, right? Not that he was lacking in that department, mind! I'd seen several knees go weak, Eve's and Ramona's included, at a wink of his chocolate-brown eyes or a flash of his flawless dimpled smile.

I didn't recall my own knees being particularly affected by the sight of him, but then, if my grandpa riding his Aethonans bare backed until the age of one hundred was any indication, my genetics had blessed me with very reliable joints.

Or maybe that's not such an objective measure. Jasper didn't seem to go weak on the knees, or anywhere else, around me, either. In fact, he'd felt pretty strong when he'd nearly smothered me in his muscly hold, just then.

And if that's what they mean by having one's breath taken away, then it's not all that's made out to be. I mean, even having my brain apparently melted away and needing to reboot basic functions like walking and talking was more pleasant. And I would know, because that's what had happened when the exact same casual gesture had come from Draco Malfoy. That had been very pleasant indeed.

Speaking of Mr. Captain, and the pleasantness about him, guess who stepped out of the bathroom just then, freshly showered, with his hair damp and falling over stormy silver eyes that matched his brooding expression.

Not for the first time, I was forced to quell a sudden, inexplicable urge to reach out and caress away those untimely lines upon his otherwise perfectly carved features.

\- Well, if you're going to take forever to get ready, - Archie said, effectively snapping me out of the spell of absorption I had unwittingly let myself fall into - I might as well get going to the castle and see if I can grab something to eat before I starve.

And no sooner had he said it than he proceeded to simply up and abandon me, with a completely incomprehensible smugness spreading across his face.

I stood staring dumbfounded as the door shut after him. But only for a second, then I went back to looking at the pleasantness that remained inside the locker room.

As I did so, the echoes of the previously transcribed conversation and ensuing introspection were still resonating inside my head, and somehow I soon found myself rather longing for another opportunity to have my brain melted away.

To my dismay, a simple glance at Mr. Captain was enough to tell no such pleasantness seemed to be in order. He was very diligently erasing the moving tactical diagrams from the board, and quite intently not looking at me.

Which, of course, I had no right to feel dismayed about, considering I had once again messed up his work with his team, losing him one player a few short days before the match.

\- I really am sorry. – I felt the need to say – I'll go talk to Professor Slughorn again first thing in the morning…

\- Don't.

I looked up in alarm. "Don't" as in "don't speak, because I can't even stand the sound of your voice right now", or "don't" as in "don't even bother talking to Slughorn, because you're off the team"? It was impossible to say, because he was still scrupulously keeping his back to me. Though, honestly, either one seemed equally likely to make me want to curl up into a ball and tuck myself away for the rest of the week. Or month.

\- Laughalot's right, you know… - he eventually said with a sigh, stopping his cleaning and raking his hand through his hair.

My heart skipped a beat. Right about what, fancying me? I mentally slapped myself for the stupidity of the thought. We were talking about Quidditch here.

\- I'm not going to fall off my broom again! – I protested – I've been flying for years, I know how to hold on. That was just one time!

\- It was one time that Crabbe wanted you to fall!

He finally turned to me. His fists were clenched, and so was his jaw, his whole face a grimace of anger.

\- It was an accident… - I began, but he cut across me, spitting bitterly:

\- It was no accident! He targeted you on purpose, don't you see?

Oh great, I remember thinking, even the ghost thought I was the weak link in the team!

\- A lifetime of torment, he's promised me… - Draco breathed, letting himself slump defeated onto the bench against the opposite wall.

I hesitated, not knowing what to do or say, before finally going to sit quietly beside him, just as he went on to say:

\- He heard you say I'd gone back for you during the Battle, you know…

Of course, I remembered all too well. We'd been in the hospital wing after my fall during the first match, and he had been beating himself up for things I didn't think were for him to beat himself up about. I hadn't known the ghost had been listening in, but I supposed I should have expected that he would want to see the aftermath of his wicked trick.

Again, I couldn't help the pang of sadness at seeing the evidence of Crabbe keeping his promises plainly etched on Draco's features. It was positively heart-breaking to see the cycle of hurt and resentment they were trapping themselves into, but how could I even think of trying to set them free when my mere existence seemed only to throw more wood into the fire!

\- I'm sorry…

Like I said, more wood into the fire. Draco snapped his head to me and his eyes were perfect storms, so much so that I could almost see lightening striking as he snapped:

\- Why the hell do you keep apologising for things that are not even your fault?!

I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from apologising again. And to keep the moist suddenly pooling in my eyes from leaking, too. I can't really explain it, but I think his anger resonating inside my head was somehow upsetting my lacrimal glands.

Silence ensued, and then something icy brushed my cheek, startling me. A moment too late I realised it had been Draco's cold finger wiping away a tear that I had apparently failed to contain. I instinctively leaned in to his touch, but his pale hand was already falling limply onto his lap, as he shook his head, saying:

\- They're my fault, Tori… It's all my fault… And I should have known, I should never have let you take his place in the team…

\- I'm glad you did. – I said.

He shook his head again, about to argue, but this time I did nothing to stop my hand as it practically moved of its own accord to caress his bitter scowl, effectively surprising him into silence. Perhaps it was simply self-flattering wishful thinking, but I could swear his expression lightened a little bit.

\- I'm sorry that your friend died. – I went on, quietly - I'm sorry that he hasn't found peace and is turning his pain and hurt into hatred… And I wish… I wish you would see that that is not all there is for you…

His eyes met mine and I no longer found them resembling stormy skies, but rather lonely, murky oceans where one would expect pirate ships full of riches and wonders to have gone adrift and wrecked.

I don't know what came over me. For some reason, something about that thought prompted my body to abandon all rational thought and self-possession, and I found myself pressing my lips against his. He didn't push me away, but he didn't do anything else, either.

I was the one who, getting a grip on myself a few seconds too late, pulled away blushing so fiercely that I'm sure you could have heated a cauldron on my face.

An awkward silence followed for what felt like an eternity and a half, though in slightly more objective hindsight, it couldn't have lasted more than half a minute. He was the one who broke it.

\- Tori…

I remained determinedly looking at anything but him.

\- Tori, look at me.

I very slowly and grudgingly lifted my face a teeny tiny bit, but kept my eyes on the knot of his tie.

\- Can we just pretend this never happened? – I heard myself ask very quickly, and felt a new wave of heat rushing to my face.

\- We can… – he said, and if I'm honest, I have to admit it stung more than a little.

For some reason, despite the humiliating fiasco this attempt at a kiss obviously had been, apparently my idiot brain was still clinging to the romantic hope that he would say something along the lines of "Of course not! I saw fireworks just then, and my stomach is bursting with butterflies, and my heart is thrashing in my chest like the Whomping Willow with P.M.S., and I've just had an epiphany of eternal love and will treasure this moment forever and ever."

\- Tori, listen… - he continued, interrupting my momentary self-pitying reverie, and of course my hopelessly moronic cardiac muscle had to go into a drum solo – I don't... I'm… Hell, I'm a wreck of the man I should've been… I don't have anything to give, and certainly not what you want...

I didn't say anything. I don't think I would have been able to, even if I'd known what to say, because my throat was clogged with a giant lump. I was also suddenly very interested in observing the remaining moving figures on the half-erased black board. Though they were getting kind of blurry, on account of my lacrimal glands having just decided again of their own accord that my eyes needed moisturizing. I was tenaciously overriding their decision.

I sat there, silent and unmoving. My brain was too busy juggling, first, its feeble control over the parts of my organism that were all of a sudden seeking emancipation, and, second, the dilemma of whether to take my broom and fly straight into the aforementioned Whomping Willow, or to salvage what was left of my pride and not give him that satisfaction.

Fortunately, but quite regrettably, he saved me the great indignity of having to run away. Finding himself unable to come up with anything else to say, apparently, he got to his feet, then seemed to hesitate awkwardly. And finally, before leaving, did the one thing that could possibly dwarf my already trampled ego to a point, it seemed at the time, beyond repair: he patted my head.

He could hardly have been crueller if he had been trying. And that's saying something, because, throughout the previous six years, I'd had many an opportunity to witness him trying pretty hard to win the title of most execrable bully. This time, though, I heard his unspoken words louder than any of the taunts he used to be so keen to throw around: _Little Tori_. Never anything more.

And then, as if to prove it, my pathetically scattered brain completely surrendered to my hyperactive lacrimal glands.

I'm ashamed to say that I crawled into my bed that night wallowing in self-pity, mourning for the romanticized notions I had unwittingly been conceiving around the idea of my first kiss. Not that I had ever put much thought into it, I don't think, but whatever it was that that impertinent little tiny part of my mind bent on clinging to corny fantasies had expected, that day's events had definitely fallen short.

I closed my eyes, with a mental command for my own brain to heed the list of banned subjects it was to steer well away from, for the sake of my sleeping cycle and my sanity. Needless to say, platinum-blond hair and grey eyes didn't fail to join that list.

* * *

If I had honestly thought for even a second that pretending something hadn't happened would make it true, I had clearly been delusional.

And if I had hoped it playing over and over inside my head would be as haunting and mortifying as it would get, then I had clearly forgotten that my sister had a proclivity to spot and ransack my innermost disquiets akin to that of a niffler to search for gold.

\- When were you planning to tell me that you fancy Draco Malfoy?

The report on Venomous Tentaculas I had been working on for the previous two hours disappeared under a veritable puddle of blackness as my inkbottle did a somersault.

I found myself wishing it had rather spilled down my head, for at least that would've concealed the deep shade of beetroot red I could feel spreading over every inch of my skin visible from the neck of my robe to the roots of my hair. I looked up to see Daphne regarding me steadily.

\- He's told you?! – I heard myself squeak – Oh no, what did he tell you?!

I knew at once I'd just dug my own grave, so to speak. Daph's eyes widened and she demanded:

\- You mean Draco?! Why, what could he have told me?!

\- Nothing!

\- Tori!

Her piercing gaze had me sliding down my chair, almost halfway to positively hiding under the table. Actually, the prospect of hiding under the table was becoming more and more appealing. Maybe I could even try my hand at the Desilusionment Charm we'd recently gone through in class and take up residence in this out-of-the-way corner of the library I doubted even Madam Pince, the librarian, remembered checking all that regularly.

The only flaw in that plan was clearly my sister's apparent supernatural ability to find me. Which was what was prompting my need to hide, in the first place. Well, at least this time the rest of the gang didn't seem to be in on the ambush. And then a thought occurred to me that froze my whole body.

\- Oh God! Daph, please tell me you haven't said anything to Pansy!

\- Pansy's the least of your problems! – she retorted impatiently.

Pursing her lips, she sat down in front of me with a heavy, disgruntled sigh, and then said:

\- Of all the boys in this school, Tori!

\- What do you mean, then?

\- C'mon, little sister, look around you. Is Malfoy really someone you want to see yourself associated with, these days?

I couldn't believe my ears. I mean, she'd basically estranged Mum and Dad because they supposedly had showed some prejudice against Theo for being a Death Eater, and here she was telling me off about a former Death Eater! A former Death Eater, in fact, whose crimes had been legally forgiven and who had even received her in his own home when she'd decided to renounce hers! And you can bet I had no scruple in calling her out on her hypocrisy.

\- Can't you see that's exactly why I'm saying this! – she cried, glaring at me, before shaking her head and going back to her usual argument – You don't understand, little sister…

Really, I might not look it, but I was sixteen and a half! This patronising "Tori is too little" excuse was getting old!

The only reason I refrained from snapping at her angrily was because right then I noticed her clear blue eyes becoming brimmed with tears, as she went on to say, in a quiet, melancholy tone:

\- I love Theo. I do. And I'm not saying I wish I didn't, but our story hasn't been exactly a fairy tale, you know.

So it seemed this time me being too young to understand wasn't an argument in and of itself that settled the whole conversation. Apparently I was now old enough to at least be given the chance to try to understand. I didn't know how, why or when the upgrade had happened, but I certainly wasn't going to complain.

\- I know you think my behaviour lately has been silly… - Daphne went on with a sheepish sort of sad smile at me.

Well, I'd be very concerned about her mental faculties if she'd claimed not to know that, considering I'd said so repeatedly and it had even been the subject of our ugliest row to date. Of course, I figured that was not something upgraded, not-so-little Tori should say, so I didn't.

\- Don't think for a moment that I don't know or that I don't care that Mum and Dad have nothing but what they think is my best interest at heart, Tori. – she continued – Or that it doesn't pain me too that I hurt you so… But, and don't take this the wrong way, little sister, unlike you, I do know what I'm getting myself into.

In truth, I wasn't getting myself into anything. Not that I had really given much thought to what it would entail to "get myself associated" with Draco, to use Daphne's expression, but he'd made pretty clear that was not even an option.

However, the mere memory of his rejection still made me cringe, let alone the thought of relating it aloud to someone else. So I left the heart-pouring to my sister.

\- Theo and I were friends before we became in love, and we became in love before he became a Death Eater. – she explained - And so I've seen what it did to him, how it changed him, how it damaged him. Because it's not just the name that is tainted, Tori. Though even that loss cuts deeper than you would think.

There was a pause, as she sighed and seemed to ponder her next words. At last, she said:

\- But I love him, and I have through it all. I cannot let go now that he needs love the most, even though taking it away may seem the easiest, most obvious thing to do.

She looked away and swallowed hard. It was a couple of moments before she turned to face me again with a more composed expression.

\- But you, you're my little sister. – she said, and there was no mistaking the fondness in her tone – You're pure and innocent. And you deserve a first love that's not tainted, but that's innocent, and easy, and obvious, as first loves should be.

Okay, this conversation was getting a bit uncomfortable. Hadn't she been talking about her and Theo? Why was she suddenly turning back to me? There wasn't even anything to turn back to me about, and I certainly hadn't said anything about love!

I could feel the air thinning and my heart starting to revolt against its rib cage, much like during Mum's talks about me having to embrace the duties of my social position and all that. My background thoughts wandered wistfully to my Comet 290, stuck still in its corner of the dormitory, as Daphne went on:

\- I know you've been through a horrible ordeal that no one, especially no one so young, should have to endure. And I know that Draco was there and looked out for you when I… well, when I failed to…

\- Please don't blame yourself, Daph! – I spoke for the first time in a long while – It was my fault, I should've followed the instructions and instead I got myself lost and left behind during a battle!

\- Well, I'm your big sister! It was my job to make sure you didn't get left behind! And I didn't do it! – she countered somewhat angrily. Sighing, she continued – If something had happened to you…

I was about to point out that it hadn't and that there was no point imagining even more terrible "what ifs", but she didn't even give me the chance.

\- But thankfully, Draco was there and looked out for you, and for that I am eternally grateful to him. But he is not a hero, Tori.

\- Well, and I'm not a princess, either, Daphne! Not all of us are wishing for fairy tales, you know.

\- I just don't want you to get hurt, okay?

Oh well, she was a couple of days and a failed kiss attempt too late. But I didn't tell her that, of course. I just said I appreciated her concern and told her not to worry, and went about trying to salvage my homework assignment.

I suppose I should've known it was simply not in her nature to leave it alone that easily.

I don't know what possibly went through my sister's head for her to conclude that her work wouldn't be complete without making absolutely sure beyond all doubt, if there had still been any, that I would never again be able to even come within sight of Draco Malfoy unless someone were to invent something like an Utter Mortification Attenuating Charm.

It happened on the day of the match. I had seen the knot of green and silver that was our Quidditch team get up from the Slytherin table and exit the Great Hall without me.

I had seen the burly fourth year resembling a bespectacled hippopotamus sporting my robe number but with the silver letters reading "Whackmore" where my name should have been.

I had unwittingly let my eyes turn to Malfoy when Jasper had said to me, on passing by, that he would dedicate every goal he scored to the grounded princess. Only to see a pair of silvery-grey eyes coldly turning away.

And I had spent the whole morning in the Potions classroom down in the dungeons, dissecting bats and sorting their usable parts into the respective containers.

Stabbing though every single one of those events were, they had nothing on the conversation I happened upon later that day.

Slytherin had beaten Ravenclaw. Oh yeah, that was yet another realisation to tread down my spirits: it was definitely settled that my absence was more beneficial for the team than my presence.

The fact that my replacement had lost his bat within ten minutes of the game turned out to be of little consequence, since he found himself not needing a bat to smack the Bludgers, or even the Bludgers to smack the adversaries. Apparently Draco was able to catch the Snitch before the Human Bat managed to outweigh our Chasers' tally with penalty shots.

So, anyway, Slytherin had won, putting us back in the race for the Quidditch Cup. And with rather good prospects, too, all depending on the final match against Hufflepuff, which everyone knew was pretty much the least challenging team of the four. Someone decided this mere fact called for House-wide celebration. I disagreed.

When the empty dormitory proved insufficient refuge from the veritable racket coming from the Common Room, me, my sketchpad and Mr. Felix had no choice but to go in search of better conditions elsewhere in the castle.

The short time it took me to wriggle my way through the festivities to the passage on the wall and the blissfully silent corridor outside was enough to confirm that the noise had nothing on the sight.

There were cups and bottles everywhere, empty and half-filled alike. People milled and stumbled around, some dancing, some talking, some clearly forgetting they were not in the privacy of their bedrooms.

Shortly after I emerged out of the revelry, it turned out I wasn't the only one seeking to escape it.

Because students were not really supposed to wander around the castle at night, I had settled in a small nook not far down the corridor from the entrance to the Common Room. From there, I happened to be able to see, without being seen, a tall, pale, blond figure that didn't fail to make my heart skip a beat stepping out from the passage to the Common Room. Before the passage closed, another figure also came out, demanding in an all too familiar bossy sort of voice:

\- Draco! Where are you going?

He turned to face her with the irked, defiant sneer one could hardly be surprised to see him display at being thus addressed.

\- Nowhere I have the slightest obligation to tell you. – he retorted coldly.

\- Oh yeah? I saw my sister coming out just moments before you did!

\- Well, good for her, that place's turned into a slum!

Daphne wheezed impatiently and snapped:

\- Don't try to get smart with me, Malfoy! You stay away from my sister!

\- I haven't even seen your sister! What the hell is your problem?

\- I'll tell you what my problem is! – Daphne spat angrily – Of all the despicable things you've ever done, this has to be about the lowest! Tori's like a child, she's incapable of such things as hate or resentment. Which makes her about the only person in this school who wouldn't like to see your head on a spear. But you chose to abuse and manipulate that into having her thinking you're some kind of misunderstood hero, in the hopes of getting yourself a new lovesick puppy to follow you around, no doubt!

Draco's sneer had turned into a scowl to return Daphne's glare, and his voice was icy as he drawled:

\- Are you quite done yet?

\- No, I'm not! For years I've watched my best friend pining for you and you treating her like some disposable toy you take for a ride whenever you want and toss back onto the shelf with the rest of your trinkets when you get fed up! And now that she's finally kicking you to the curb, you're fancying yourself a new toy. But I'll be damned if I'm going to let you play around with my baby sister like you did with Pansy!

I swear in that moment I seriously considered simply taking off and relocating myself to a deserted island. And dropping my sister in the middle of the ocean in the process.

\- I hardly think I owe you any explanation about how I chose to handle Pansy's rather obstinate advances. – Draco replied icily – As for your sister…

My every cell held its breath at this point, as you can imagine.

\- Well, you don't seem to give her much credit if you think she'd so easily become anyone's pathetic lovesick puppy, do you?

\- You… - Daphne sputtered, but Draco cut across her:

\- I am not, nor have I ever pretended to be, a hero of any sort, and I'm pretty sure Tori's very well aware of that. I did do a lot of things I'm not proud of, none of which I reckon you're the most entitled to hold against me. And manipulating and playing around with your sister is most definitely not one of them.

There was a pause, during which Daphne continued to glare at him and pursing her lips in obvious disbelief, while Draco seemed to be pondering whether or not to say his next words. I would wish he hadn't.

\- If you must know, - he said – I actually find myself feeling rather fond and protective of her… In the way I think I would of a younger sibling of my own, if I had one…

I didn't even hear Daphne's response.

It shouldn't have stung as much as it did. After all, he'd already turned me down to my face. And I suppose it should be a good thing that he cared about me any way at all, instead of taking advantage of me and playing me around like a toy.

But right then, and I hate myself for thinking it, even the prospect of being a toy seemed more appealing. At least it would've meant I was a desirable woman, and not just plain, childlike Little Tori.

Well, it appeared Little Tori indeed I was, for I slumped sulkily to the floor in my secluded corner, curling myself into a ball of self-pity. God, I really was an insecure little girl, wasn't I?

Anyway, in doing so, I suddenly deprived Mr. Felix of his napping spot on my lap. Which resulted in him hissing angrily at me and prowling away indignantly, and basically giving away my presence to the two people I most anxiously did not want to face anywhere in the near future. As if my day needed to get any worse.

\- Tori? – Daphne called, and I could hear her steps approaching.

Obviously, I wasn't about to let them find me crumpled on the floor in a dark corner and prove them I was exactly as pathetic as they already thought I was.

So I straightened up and stepped out onto the corridor to glare at her, determinedly holding back the tears of hurt and anger and frustration pricking my eyes. And even more determinedly not acknowledging the person behind her, as though by doing so I could convince myself he wasn't really there.

\- Yeah, me. – I said as coldly as I could – The person you've just embarrassed into next century. Other than yourself, that is. Congratulations.

I picked up my cat and intended to push past them and get out of sight before I made an even bigger fool of myself. But then Daphne had to go and say:

\- Little sister, I was just…

I exploded.

\- What, Daphne? You were just what? Let me guess: telling yourself you're looking out for me to justify your getting your nose where it doesn't belong! I don't know how to put this more clearly: Stop meddling! The last time you meddled, I ended up in the middle of a freaking battle! Now, I might just die of shame!

Okay, I knew this was a very unfair thing to say. But I'd just had a horrible day, a horrible week, in fact, and she'd just made herself the ideal target to take down all my frustration on.

\- Oh, so you're ashamed that I meddle, but you're not ashamed of lurking around corners at night to meet up with him, like some… some wench!

I honestly thought I would've rather she'd slapped me again.

At last, my lacrimal glands won over and the tears began rolling down my cheeks as slow and quiet as my tone, as I said:

\- I came out here to get away from the noise because of the headache I've got from spending most of the day locked up in an underground classroom with smelly potion ingredients. Which, incidentally, I brought on myself for defending you and your romantic choices.

She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again, and I went on:

\- I honestly don't know what I can possibly have ever done to make you think this little of me, but I have not been meeting with anyone, in secret or otherwise. And you owe Draco an apology, because everything he said is true.

And with that, I turned to walk away. Or I would have, if I had some place to go. But they had just ruined my hideout and the festivities in the Common Room were still going strong. And loud. As it was, I didn't do much more than take a few steps to get my point across, pretending I wanted to go to the Great Hall, or something.

Daphne called after me and tried to follow, but that's when Draco decided to break his rather awkward, hovering silence and snap:

\- God, you just don't know when to stop, do you? Leave her alone!

I could have hugged him. Well, not literally, because we all know where my impulsive outbursts of emotion had led me, but you get the idea.

Of course Daphne didn't take very well to him bossing her around, especially on my account. But in the end she gave in and went back to the party, probably feeling somewhat foolish about this whole business by then, I reckon in hindsight.

Draco, however, didn't follow her. Instead he followed me, and nearly ripped me up in conflict by gingerly placing one hand on my back and trying to catch my eyes with his.

I had half of my brain begging me to face him and lean into his touch, and the other half screaming at me to run away of my own accord before he pushed me himself. Considering the mess I was in at the moment, I concluded the latter was probably the most sensible course of action.

\- Please, just don't. – I said to the buttons of his shirt.

And I ran. Well, not exactly, because that would have been very undignified, and my dignity was already pretty much depleted as it was. But I did walk away at a reasonably steady pace.

Well, and basically, I just kept at it until he would be permanently out of my life. It was actually quite easy to accomplish, believe it or not. After all, I had successfully kept out of his way for the greater part of five years, and I hadn't even been consciously trying.

There were classes, and homework, and my sketchbook to keep me busy. And other people, of course. I wasn't a hermit! Then the Easter holidays came and went, and then May was upon us and with it the last Quidditch match. Which we won, but not by enough points to beat Gryffindor to the Quidditch Cup. It must be because I played.

Anyway, that is to say that after that, there wasn't any reason left for me to have to even look at him at all, let alone speak. In fact, I almost made it all the way to the end of the year and the summer holidays without having to say to him so much as a "hello" again. Almost.

* * *

It was graduation day for 7th and 8th years. The diplomas had been given out, the rather intimate feast with the graduates and their families had been eaten. And everybody was assembling out on the grounds to see the enchanted boats take the leaving students out across the Black Lake, the way they had come in before their very first year.

Parents hugged their children proudly, students hugged their friends nostalgically, and everybody seemed to be smiling and crying at the same time.

My sister, in particular, seemed like a burst pipe. She literally hadn't stopped leaking since the ceremony had started.

Apparently, first, it had been because Theo hadn't showed up. So her friends had naturally gathered around to comfort her. And then they had all ended up overwhelmed by the realisation that their schooldays were over and that this was probably the end of the line for their gang as they knew it.

And now she was positively crying like a baby burrowed in Mum and Dad's embrace. Well, all three of them were crying like babies, actually. I, on the other hand, was veritably beaming at the sight.

Not wanting to clash with the mood and risk upsetting the much hoped-for scene before me, I'd taken my beam a little to the side, near to where the edge of the forest approached the lake.

\- So, are you still avoiding me?

There was no mistaking that snarky, drawling voice. I turned around to find him leaning against a tree mere yards away. Clad in his black robes and hat of the school uniform, he had escaped my notice among the trees in the dusking sky.

\- I haven't been… - I begun, but trailed away as I recognised the pointlessness of denying the truth.

\- I thought the agreement was to pretend one particular incident hadn't happened, not our entire friendship.

I had never realised we'd acknowledged each other as friends. From what I'd gathered throughout the years, Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly one to make friends, so much as to collect admirers, garner allies and recruit lackeys.

Then again, throughout the years, Draco Malfoy had also been quite vocal about his loathing of Professor Dumbledore, and yet here he was standing by his tomb.

I decided that I might as well take the few steps left to place us at a normal conversation distance and talk to my friend one last time before he left and went on to do whatever he was going to do with the rest of his life.

\- So I'm your friend, huh?

I suppose I just couldn't help it, the concept was simply too baffling. In a good, uplifting sort of way, mind!

\- Don't look so pleased about it. – he said with a bit of a rueful snort – It's not exactly a title of honour, these days.

\- Well, I understand it's something of an exclusive privilege. – I replied affecting playful smugness and pompousness.

He glanced sideways at me and, for a moment, I thought he may have found my remark somewhat insensitive and judgemental. But then his lips stretched into a rather fond sort of smile and he even gave a light chuckle.

Then his eyes turned back to the castle rising up against the darkening sky, and his smiled turned sad, then to a frown, and finally into a bitter scowl.

\- I remember arriving here first year. – he said after a moment - Thought I had it all figured out, you know…

Obviously, I hadn't known him in his first year, but I could only imagine. If he had been so sure of himself and of his place in the world as he'd seemed to be in his third year and onwards, it wasn't hard to imagine he probably wasn't so sure of anything anymore, after all that had happened. I knew I wasn't, and I had only seen the tip of the iceberg.

\- Well, nothing really turned out the way I'd expected it to, did it? – he went on in the same bitter tone.

Once again, I didn't know what to say. And honestly, I wasn't even sure I was supposed to say anything, since I couldn't tell whether he was talking to me or really just to himself. So I simply listened.

After another moment of silent contemplation, his brooding gaze turned to the white tomb in front of us, and his head shook slightly, as he all but whispered:

\- Sometimes I think if I'd just… if I'd just taken his offer… if the others had taken just a little longer to get there… then maybe… maybe everyone wouldn't hate us so much… maybe I could've done something…

He took a quick, scathing glance back at the castle and, scowling, spat:

\- Even the old Parkinson hag had the nerve to walk right past Mother without a word, scrunching her ugly face like she'd just stepped on dragon dung!

At that moment, we caught sight of a dull glow alighting behind a curtain of loose vegetation on the slope of the cliff, far off in the other margin of the lake. The lanterns in the boathouse.

As if on cue, the students that still lingered on the grounds begun quickly making their way to the entrance to the underground harbour, while the families started gathering nearer to the water's edge to watch and wave the fleet away.

\- It's time. – I said, when Draco didn't seem inclined to move.

He looked away over the lake, toward the furthermost margin, where the enchanted boats would dock and finally land the newly-graduates on the world beyond Hogwarts. A look of uneasiness settled over his features.

I ventured to take his hand, clenched down his side. His eyes snapped to me and again I feared I might have overstepped the boundaries of his concept of friendship. I braced myself for the rejection, and was instead surprised with his fingers squeezing mine, as he took one sweeping glance around.

\- If I had a do-over… - he breathed.

\- You had a do-over. – I said, quietly – You got to come back and redo your 7th year. It might not have been a perfect clean slate, but it was a second chance. They do happen, second chances, you know...

He looked back at me, and I saw his anxious expression morphing into a thoughtful one, his stormy grey eyes turn into lonely murky oceans with shipwrecks at the bottom. And then he caught me completely by surprise by taking my hand, which he was still holding, to his lips and gently brushing them on my knuckles.

That simple gesture shouldn't have stirred something inside of me the way it did. I'm not sure the words I blurted out next were more directed at him or at myself:

\- I'm going out with Jasper.

\- Well I guess that explains the muffler in the middle of June and the little mark on your neck it so obviously was supposed to conceal…

My face must have been practically incandescent. He actually threw his head back laughing, as I self-consciously tugged said muffler (which Lottie had assured me was a very inconspicuous summer scarf) tighter around my neck.

\- Why, sweet innocent Little Tori… - he taunted, and with a good old Draco Malfoy trademark smirk across his face, he turned and clambered up the grounds and after the last couple of students making their way to the boathouse.

Ten minutes later, I was standing by the edge of the lake with Mum and Dad and all the other mums and dads and siblings, watching as the lanterns on the enchanted boats slowly faded into mere dots in the distance. And with them, a pale blond head grew smaller and smaller away from my sight and my life.

Or so I thought.

* * *

**A/N: An enormous thank you for your interest in my little story, for reading, following, favouriting and, of course, reviewing. It really warms my heart to know you enjoy my work.**

**I hope this new chapter was to your liking, and I do hope you will not be too disappointed by Draco's rejection and their parting. I really thought at this point he was still very emotionally and psychologically confused, still reeling from the crumbling of the beliefs and everything he'd grown up taking for granted. And Tori too is still, like she herself says, a very insecure and immature girl and would probably not be prepared to deal with the scars of his past, on top of her own.**

**But please do not hate me too much, this is obviously not the end, and I hope you will stick with me and appreciate the unfolding of the drama I have planned for the future.**

**Thank you all very much and good reads, everyone! :D**


	8. Chapter 7 - Beyond Hogwarts

**A/N: Dear readers, I cannot thank you enough for your support! Your kind words and your continued interest really motivate me to put my heart and soul into making this story the best that I can.**

**I would like to take this opportunity to answer a few points **rambkowalczyk **was kind enough to raise in a recent review to one of the previous chapters. So, if you would like to know the personal interpretations that led me to make certain plot choices, you can find a small dissertation at the end of the chapter. XD**

**Now, an important warning: Beware that this new chapter includes some darker, sensitive themes!**

**Anyway, my apologies for the long note, and without further ado, I present you:**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Fast forward three and nearly a half years and I too had already crossed the Black Lake out of Hogwarts. As well as other waters into the wider world, and now back again.

Let's pick up the story at the rainy evening in early November when I crossed the threshold of Little Appleton Hall already foreseeing a storm coming my way in the form of my sister. And sure enough, no sooner had I taken off my travelling cloak and approached the dining room, than she snapped angrily:

\- Well, nice of you to show up! Where's your dress?!

Bollocks! I looked at her elegant brand new robes, her carefully styled hair and her perfectly applied make-up. And then I looked at my faded jeans, my clumsy bun and my muddy boots.

\- In my locker at the lab… - I replied sheepishly – Oh Daph, I'm so sorry! I'll find something else nice upstairs and I'll be down in a jiffy…

\- Oh right, like you haven't made us wait enough already! Just take your seat, will you!

I barely noticed all the fancy wreaths of fresh flowers adorning the room, the enchanted harp playing by itself at the corner, or the exquisite satin bow on the back of the chair that magically drew itself back for me to sit.

I glanced around apologetically at various rather weary faces around the table as I basically went into a rant, trying to excuse my lateness.

\- I am so very sorry! - I repeated - It's just that the lab is absolutely chaotic, with the Ethics Committee breathing down our necks and confiscating all our experiment subjects because of Hermione Granger's new House-Elf Protection Act. All our research is basically on hold, because we now have to fill out a thousand reports and a mountain-worth of paper-work every time we need so much as a stool sample…

Mum cleared her throat, Great-aunt Mathilda choked on her mead, Archie sniggered and Daphne looked like she might just shove my head in the soup bowl. Well, okay, I reckon that may not have been the most suitable occasion to bring up bodily waste.

So I once again apologised and then fell silent as the meal started, and Great-aunt Mathilda took over, loudly expressing her indignation that, by the look of things, House-Elves would soon be allowed wands and start to order wizards around.

I mean, I did understand the principle behind Granger's legislation. I could see how, being by nature bound to serve and prone to self-harmful behaviour, elves were in a rather vulnerable position that often made them susceptible to abuse. And it certainly didn't offend me in the least that their employment should be regulated and their basic life and work conditions legally protected.

But when it came to magical research, there was really no other choice but to resort to magical creatures for experimentation. We couldn't very well simply put the newly-created potions and charms to use directly on the patients, without testing them before on lab creatures.

Sure, we tried to restrict experimentation to simpler species, such as Doxys and Flobberworms as much as possible, but there were some steps of the process that absolutely required more complex, sentient creatures. And house-elves were simply the ideal choice. And it's not like we didn't have a stack of bezoars right there at hand.

Anyway, while Great-aunt Mathilda ranted on about the elves on one end of the table, at the other, Pansy started on against their proclaimed defender.

\- Of course such a mess had to come from that insufferable Granger! – she said scornfully – She's always thought a lot of herself, fancying herself smarter than everyone else. And now she's even worse, what with everyone calling her a war heroine and whatever. She just loves the attention, I reckon. And to defy all the old, traditional customs just out of spite because she knows that, at the end of the day, she's nothing but a glorified Muggle.

I chose not to comment. I'd learned a long time ago that when Pansy had venom to spill on somebody, she could be a force of nature with her fangs out. And better Granger than me.

But it turned out I wasn't to get off the hook so easily. In fact, Pansy turned to me, spoonful of bisque halfway to her mouth, with a devilish grin that didn't promise anything nice.

\- And I think I might just have got the story that's going to take the halo off of her bushy head! – she chirped gleefully.

\- Pans, come on, we're not going for that "Granger cheats on Weasley with House-Elves" again! – Daphne grumbled with a roll of her eyes – Even Rita thought it was too far-fetched the first time around!

I should probably make a parenthesis here to explain that, after Hogwarts, Daph and Pansy went on to become reporters, under Rita Skeeter's wing. They wrote mostly celebrity articles that featured occasionally on _Witch Weekly_ or the celebrity section of the _Daily Prophet_. Which means they basically got to continue criticising everyone like they'd always done, but now got paid for it.

But back to the story, and literally Pansy's story to denigrate Hermione Granger. She quickly brushed off Daphne's comment and announced triumphantly:

\- "War Heroine Turns Fanatical Social Insurgent and Boycotts Magimedical Progress".

Before I could show much more reaction than blink in astonishment, she went on squealing delightedly:

\- It's brilliant! I just have to explore what Tori said about her stealing their research…

\- Uh uh! – I protested – No way! You're not getting me in the middle of that! And I never said Granger had stolen our research!

I mean, if she wanted to dedicate her life to bad-mouthing the Golden Trio, that was her decision. But I, personally, had no problem with any of those people. Not to mention that Granger had an Order of Merlin and the whole wizarding world looking up to her, whereas I was a newly-arrived intern with the Pureblood Slytherin stigma on my head. Going along with her story was, if nothing else, plain career suicide.

The thing about Pansy was that she was hardly one to take no for an answer, and pretty much upheld that saying that "if you're not with me, you're against me".

Fortunately (for me, at least. Sort of.), she didn't get very far on her rather heated attempt to make me reconsider, before the watch on my wrist started vibrating and its dial glowed red.

\- NO! – Daphne snarled – No way! Don't you dare get up from that chair!

\- Daph, it's code red… - I said, in what I hope was an apologetic but reasonable tone.

\- I don't care if it's code red or code rainbow! – she cried.

When I apologised again but begun slowly backing out, she pleaded for backup.

\- Mum… - said Daphne, whiny.

\- Tori… - said Mum, obligingly.

\- Dad… - said I, entreatingly.

\- Daphne… - said Dad, reasonably.

If Daphne seemed to want to shove my head in the soup bowl before, now she positively looked like she would shove me whole in the fireplace. Without the Floo powder.

\- IT'S MY BLOODY ENGAGEMENT PARTY!

And for some reason, I must have thought it was perfectly reasonable to respond with:

\- It's really just a party to announce you're going to have another party! I promise I'll be at the next one!

That's when her eyes very nearly bulged out of their sockets and she shrieked:

\- Archie, grab her! Draco, take her wand!

And that's when I noticed the pale blond young man sitting two seats from me, beside my cousin.

Well, I supposed that, as best-man to be, his presence shouldn't exactly be unexpected. But he had sat there so inconspicuously silent and broody, that I had completely overlooked him until that point.

Not that I got into a thorough examination of the man, but he looked every bit as handsome as he had the last time I'd seen him, on his graduation day. Except maybe for the circles under his eyes and the pallor of his skin, which seemed a bit more pronounced. But that could have been a trick of the lighting.

Anyway, Archie looked uncertainly between Daphne and me. And I continued making my exit as swiftly as possible, while still trying to appease my sister:

\- Daph, I'm sorry, congratulations, but I really have to go… Theo, you already know you have my blessing to marry my sister… I have to go.

\- What's the point of you being back if you're never here anyway?! – Daphne went on, rather unfairly I should say, but there was no point arguing.

\- I'll be at the wedding, whenever and wherever it is, I promise!

\- I'll make you take an Unbreakable Vow!

\- Whatever you want.

\- I'll drag you there myself!

\- If you must.

\- I'll get...

Her last threat got lost as I rushed to the service fireplace and demanded of the bright green flames:

\- St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Okay, I reckon a little background information is in order here. Well, I've already said Daphne and Pansy worked in the press. As for me, you might have already surmised I was a trainee Healer at St. Mungo's.

Yes, I was indeed studying and working at the place where my father was a board member. But before you get thinking of nepotism, I'll have you know that, after Hogwarts, I went to study well away from parental reach, at the Medici Ospedale di Magia, in Florence.

It was the first and one of the biggest magical hospitals in Europe, in existence since the early Renaissance period, and it was renowned for the most important advances in Healing Magic of that time that still make up the pillars of our work today.

Also, nobody there knew or cared whether I was Pureblood, Slytherin, or how many Death Eaters I had been friends with.

I had returned home a couple months ago because of my sister's supposedly impending nuptials, but also at the request of an old friend.

A while ago, Lottie had sent me a tear-stained letter saying that a huge fray had broken out in Azkaban, during which her father had been seriously injured and was now in need of regular magimedical care. Sensitised as she was by the less than charitable way society had been looking upon her and her relations, she didn't trust that such resentment wouldn't get in the way of Mr. Selwyn getting the best treatment possible. And I would be lying if I said I didn't notice how attending to the convicts wasn't exactly the most coveted work among my colleagues.

So basically, on top of my training, which consisted of assisting in lab research as well as in actual Healing, as you've probably realised, I also got to do volunteer work in Azkaban.

In case it wasn't clear, the lab I refer to was the new research facility you might remember I mentioned was devised at the end of the War, with funding mostly from the Malfoy family. It was headed by Professor Helbert Spleen, one of the most prominent Healers of our time, who also acted as advice columnist in the Health section of the _Daily Prophet_, and my mentor. He's brilliant, really. And I mean that in a strictly professional way, not in the sense Daph liked to imply once in a while.

But on with story. The code red at Daphne's engagement dinner had turned out to be an accident in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry. Which had landed a dozen Unspeakables in St. Mungo's with mystifying life-threatening injuries about which we were not allowed to inquire, on account of the top-secret nature of the whole event. Without even knowing whether we should commit them in the Spell Damage, Artefact Accidents or Creature-Induced Injuries Department, we were in for a long, challenging night.

Of course, that was hardly reason why my missing my sister's engagement dinner should go unpunished. And that is why I was forced to sacrifice my much awaited day-off for the greater good of wedding planning.

I had unequivocally heard Theo say he wanted a small, simple, intimate ceremony. My sister was looking for venues in a catalogue of enchanted glass palaces on the cliffs of Norwegian fjords, and my mother's draft of a guest list was already on the three digits. Well, I suppose it hardly comes as a surprise from the woman who'd have us have formal balls for birthday parties and her daughter that absolutely loved them.

\- It's my wedding, I want it to be perfect! He already had his way with that sorry excuse for an engagement party! – Daphne protested when I voiced the point.

I think the reason she was sinking her teeth into these fairy tale conceptions was because she sort of felt like she was the only one fighting for the happy ever after.

Not so long before, Daphne and Theo's relationship had been positively hanging by a thread. And it hadn't been the first time, either. Turns out all her fighting with Mum and Dad, all her plans of running away had been because Theo had been intending to break up with her and go join his father in exile. And Mum and Dad didn't want to see her tear herself apart trying to hold on. Or something like that.

You see, Theo had always been rather reserved and indrawn, as far as I could tell, but since the War, he had grown more and more distant and hesitant in their relationship.

It's not that he no longer cared about Daphne, as anyone who saw them together would plainly see. I think it really was one of those "it's not you, it's me" sort of situations, in the way that he hadn't come to terms with the losses in his life and wanted to spare her of the "taint".

Or at least that's what I gathered from overhearing one of their arguments mere weeks before.

\- How many times do I have to tell you? – Daphne had cried, and I could picture the tears in her eyes – All I want is you! I don't care about the way it should have been, or the way it might never be!

\- Well, I care, Daph. – Theo had replied in his quiet tone – I care that I'm not able to give you the ring my mother wore, and my grandmother before her, and my great-grandmother before… I care that my father will never get to formally welcome you into the family… that there isn't even a family to show…

And that's when my sister said the words that I think scared him the most:

\- So we'll make one of our own, Theo.

\- I don't think… I can't… What would our children think, seeing everything that should have been rightfully theirs turned to ruins?

Dark days had followed, with even the yet unannounced engagement being very nearly called off. And so we now displaced the gloom with cheerful wedding planning.

We were gathered in the drawing room, among an amalgam of venue catalogues, fabric and flower samples, magazine clippings of celebrity weddings around the world, and a whole lot of frilly and perfumed and lovey dovey things I can't even name.

\- Why do I have to invite Ernie Macmillan? – Daphne said when checking Mum's guest list draft – I haven't seen him in years, and we weren't even exactly close at Hogwarts!

\- Nonsense, the Macmillans have always been very fond of you girls. – Mum replied with a pointed look at Daphne and a none too subtle nod in my direction.

Yep, she still had her hopes there.

\- Isn't he going out with Parvati? – said Daphne.

\- Isn't he gay? – said Pansy.

I thought I heard Mum whimper. I certainly heard myself sigh in relief, at least until my dear sister went on to say slyly:

\- And I think Tori already has her sights set on someone with more… anatomical knowledge… - and then sighing theatrically and in a very poor imitation of my voice, she said - Oh, Professor Spleen is just soooo brilliant!

Oh not this again! Daph was smirking, Pansy was sniggering, Mum was curious, and I was rolling my eyes at all of them.

\- Well, he is! – I retorted – He is also married and about Dad's age.

Mum pursed her lips and shot Daphne a disapproving look. My condition of twenty-year-old and single was not something she could tolerate being facetious about. As soon as her head was again disappearing behind bouquet catalogues or something, Pansy whispered to me with a devious smirk:

\- There's really nothing wrong with more experienced men, you know…

\- Well, just because you sleep with your chief editor, doesn't mean we should all make common practice of getting involved with our bosses!

\- Suit yourself. – she replied, completely unabashed and even somewhat smugly - But guess whose work is getting the middle pages on next month's issue. A full four-page story on Ginny Weasley's completely unladylike gesture to the referee on the last Harpies game.

The unwavering Harpies fan in me was unable to hold back a protest. I mean, the way the Harpies were being totally robbed, Ginny Weasley's rude gesture had been the least outrageous part of the game!

Of course, the only person in that house who would've taken me up on a Quidditch discussion had made sure to stay well away from Bridezilla &amp; Co., so I was alone in my argument. Curious that the hospital should suddenly have so many board meetings exactly around the time our house was taken over by the wedding squad.

Anyway, so the subject went back to my non-existent love life, which seemed to be a huge bee in Mum's bonnet. I chose to focus on my drawings (I had been put on gown sketch duties on account of my artistic skills, even though I was probably the least fashion-conscious person in the room), while they took upon themselves to discuss suitable candidates for me to date.

When all my male colleagues had been deemed "taken", "gay", or "muggle-born", they decided to venture down memory lane.

\- What about dear old Jasper Laughalot? – Mum asked, hopeful – He should like to know that you're back, Tori. Why not invite him for coffee and catch up?

\- Isn't he a backup Chaser for the Chudley Canons? – asked Pansy, rather scornfully – Oh, that's just plain pathetic. If you want a real Quidditch player, I'll set you up with Blaise Zabini, he's making _Witch Weekly_'s front cover every other month.

\- Yeah, he's also making his own personal harem with the all the bimbos swooning over him on the bleachers. – Daphne retorted with a snort, before adding as an afterthought – Speaking of the old Slytherin Quidditch team, it seems Malfoy's coming out of his cave again. Theo says he's starting to get back on his feet…

Judging by the look on Mum's face, Theo's definition of "back on one's feet" was a bit different from hers. And sure enough, Pansy went on to sneer:

\- If by "back on his feet" he means doing absolutely nothing with his life but drink himself into oblivion and get kicked out of the Leaky Cauldron for picking fights every other night. Honestly, what a lost cause, the whole family! They've become more pathetic than even the Weasleys have ever been!

Of course, I couldn't be too sure of the accuracy of her depiction. It was more than clear that Pansy had a tendency to nurture grudges like one harbours pets, and from what I'd gathered, hers and Draco's break up hadn't exactly been a clean one. But soon the opportunity arose for me to verify the truth of her words for myself.

* * *

It was late one cold, wintry night. I had just finished my Emergency shift with a house call at an address in Diagon Alley, where an old witch had accidentally stuck herself to the ceiling with an ill-performed Permanent Sticking Charm. After making sure that all of the lady's limbs were safely unstuck and functional, I set off down the snow-covered street to head home.

And that's when I caught sight of a tall, slim figure stumbling its way up the street. His platinum-blond hair was dishevelled and his clearly top-quality robes were stained and askew. But there was definitely something familiar about the pale, fine features that came into view when he passed under a street sconce.

\- Draco? – I said, approaching warily – Draco Malfoy?

He appeared to sway a bit on his feet as his head jerked up with a defiant scowl, and it took him a couple seconds to turn his slightly unfocused gaze to me. And then another few seconds for his brow to furrow in slight confusion, before finally something vaguely reminiscent of his old trademark smirk stretched across his face and he slurred a bit, exclaiming:

\- Little Tori!

I gave him a small sad smile. From the strong smell of Firewhiskey to the angry red welt forming above his cheek and swelling his eye shut, everything about him screamed the confirmation of Pansy's words. It was heart-wrenching.

With a swaying step forward, he slumped bodily against me and begun coarsely rubbing my back. It took me a moment to recognise the intention and hug him back, rather awkwardly.

\- You shouldn't wander around a place like this on your own at this hour, you know… - his typical drawling voice slurry as he spoke in my ear.

\- I had a house call nearby and was just heading home. – I explained, somewhat uncomfortably, as his arms were still clung around me – What about you? Do you need help getting to the manor?

\- I don't live at the manor anymore… I've got my own place, now.

\- Okay. Where's your place, then?

He seemed to need a couple moments to ponder the question. Or to sniff my neck, apparently. Finally, he replied with a bit of a shrug:

\- London…

I sighed wearily, summoning what was left of my endurance after a particularly long day of work. But it was tried even further as he pulled back only enough to smirk nastily to my face, saying:

\- We could go to your place… If I recall correctly, you've even invited me into your bed before…

And then his arms tightened around me and he started kissing and nipping at my neck.

\- Draco… - I said warningly, trying to push him away, to no avail. He only held me tighter, so I was forced to tug harshly at his hair to pry him off.

\- Oh, you're playing rough, are you? – he growled, smirking wider, and responded by pulling hard on my pony tail, tipping my head back.

I let out a small cry of surprise and pain, of which he took advantage to smash his mouth against mine, ruthlessly plunging his tongue inside. Unable to escape his inexorable invasion, I saw no option but to bite down hard.

\- Argh! – he cried out.

\- Draco, stop!

\- You've kissed me first, remember? – he snapped angrily, and then his tone turned petulant as he demanded – C'mon, you want me, Little Tori! You know you want me!

I was completely appalled. I had wanted to kiss him, yes, but years ago. Back when I had been an insecure little schoolgirl afflicted by nightmares that I thought only the brooding, anguished Quidditch Captain could understand.

But I had since then turned the nightmares into a drive to make the best of the life I had been lucky enough to carry on living. Hadn't he done the same? Was he really this much miserable and desperate?

The old urge to ease away the wretchedness lined in his features came back to me, and I placed my hand gently on his cheek (the one that wasn't starting to resemble a purple sweet potato, obviously), saying as kindly as I could:

\- Draco, I want you – he immediately grinned and tried to advance again, but I managed to hold him back and continue – to know that I care about you and that you'll always have a friend in me. Please… You're not yourself, right now… Let me take care of you, okay?

He loosened his grip on me with a sort of deadened resignation, and I managed to reach inside my pocket for my wand. Lifting it slowly so as to show him I meant no harm, I pointed it at his face and murmured a simple Pain Numbing Spell. Then, holding him tightly, I turned on the spot.

* * *

Apparition has never been my favourite form of travelling, to be honest. It feels like we're being sucked through a tiny pipe, and horrible things can happen if it isn't done exactly right.

I, myself, only got my Apparition Licence the second time around, having Splinched three fingers in my left hand during my first exam. And in two and a half years as a trainee-Healer, I'd seen more Splinching accidents than I could count, some of them even resulting in permanent loss of limbs.

So I usually only resorted to this very convenient but potentially disastrous method for emergency situations when there was no chance of reaching a Floo fireplace or even the Knight Bus in time. For instance, when trying to convey an injured, disoriented drunk to a safe location in order to Heal him.

We Apparated just outside the familiar gates of Little Appleton Hall. Well, I suppose my lack of practice reflected on my Apparition skills, because I always ended up feeling slightly dizzy for a moment upon arrival. Which must have been why I slacked my hold on Draco, resulting in his slumping to the ground, retching.

I might have been three years older, and my build a bit less like a child's and closer to a woman's, but I hadn't exactly filled out much. So hauling him all the way across the stone bridge over the moat and up the driveway to the front door and into the house was quite a feat, I should think.

So forgive my poor physical endurance, for I dropped him unceremoniously on the carpet while I clutched the stitch on my side and tried to recover enough breath to take off my travelling cloak and, panting, call quietly:

\- Bizzy!

Draco struggled to get himself to a sitting position, grumbling loudly.

\- Shush! There are people sleeping upstairs, you know! – I chided, just as, with a loud crack, our old house-elf appeared – Not you too, Bizzy! Are you trying to wake the whole house?!

With a mute apology, she dived headfirst to the floor and began harshly banging her head against the hard stone.

\- Oh, sure, turn yourself to a pulp so the Ethics Committee shows up here to take you away, too! – I grumbled wearily – No, seriously, stop that!

Thankfully, she did.

\- Take Draco to Lottie's old room and then bring him something to eat, okay?

After a trip to the ingredient cupboard and having swiftly slipped into a comfy pair of tracksuit bottoms and a baggy AC/DC t-shirt, I went into the aforementioned bedroom. Mr. Firewhiskey was slumped against the headboard of the bed, lazily munching on an apple. I placed the trey with the concoctions on the night table and sat on the side of the bed, waiting for him to finish his snack.

I treated his face first. The Pain Numbing Spell was probably starting to wear off, because he winced at my touch as I applied the healing pomade as gently as I could. But then, as the swelling slowly subsided and the skin returned to its natural paleness, I noticed his eyes actually flutter pleasantly and he subtly lean hungrily into the contact.

\- Do you have any more injuries? – I asked quietly, caressingly brushing his overgrown dishevelled hair off of his eyes.

He shook his head no, but I thought he'd hesitated, and I was sure I'd seen his breath hitch and his arm fly protectively to his middle a couple times as I struggled to drag him all the way into the house.

\- Are you sure? – I asked – Let me see.

My suspicions were confirmed when he stopped me reaching for his shirt.

\- Yours first. – he teased, but his smirk was bleak, his skin still somewhat green and clammy, and his expression way too tense and uneasy.

\- Draco, it's okay. You can trust me. I'm a Healer, remember? – I said soothingly, one hand gently stroking his cheek and brushing his eyelids shut, while with the other reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

It seemed to be working. At least until I made to pull the open shirt down his shoulders. That's when he snapped back into alertness as though an alarm had gone off somewhere in his head, and as he instinctively flew his left arm out of my reach behind his back, I understood.

\- What, the Dark Mark? You think I've never seen one? Who do you think gets called whenever someone in Azkaban needs medical attention?

His jaw was set, his brow furrowed and his expression steely. So I played on the weakness he'd already given away and again reached my fingers to gently caress his face.

When I thought it safe to insist, I stripped his right sleeve first, slowly. He let me. I waited a couple moments. Then I began sliding down his left sleeve, extra slowly. For a moment, I thought he would stop me again, but then a sort of look of resignation came over his face and, shutting his eyes, he turned his face away as though in shame.

It was only my experience of dealing with unsightly sights on a daily basis that kept me from gasping loudly. As his forearm came into view, the traces of a skull with a coiling snake protruding from its mouth stood out on his pale skin. But what shocked me was not the horrible brand, but the skin all over and around it. Draco's inner forearm was a patch of angry red raw skin, as multiple welts, bruises, gashes, abrasions and burns overlapped each other in varying degrees of scarring.

\- You tried to cut and burn it off?! – I couldn't help exclaiming in barely more than a whisper.

He tried to pull his arm away, but I held his wrist steadily. For long minutes, I did everything I could, performed every healing spell I knew, applied every paste, potion and pomade I had at hand.

There was a bit of improvement on some of the most recent injuries, though I wasn't able to cure them completely, only to speed up the skin regrowth and close them. But I'm afraid many of the oldest scars were already there to stay, just like the Mark underneath them. And many of those other marks, I suspected, hadn't exactly been done with a simple dinner knife or an ordinary lighter, either.

\- Draco… it's a Dark brand, it will never entirely come off…

\- Yeah, don't you think I know that? – he spat bitterly through gritted teeth, with his eyes still determinedly averted from mine and his glare fixed on the pillow.

I reached for his face again, but he flinched from my touch. So I took his hand, his left hand, in mine and, leaning my head on his shoulder, said quietly:

\- It's just a tattoo now, it's not who you are. It means only what you decide it means.

After a moment, he slowly turned his head to glance at me. I smiled encouragingly and his stance seemed to relax a little bit. With my fingers still laced through his, I pulled his hand. He realised what I was going to do and tried to pull out, whimpering:

\- No, don't… it's filthy…

But still my lips brushed his branded, maimed, scarred skin in the most tender, soothing, loving caress. He sagged against me.

I was first alarmed, then realised he was veritably shaking and weeping. The surprise only stunned me for a second. Then my arms wound around him and, holding him close, I cradled him until we both fell asleep.

* * *

When my eyes flew open next morning, it took me a few seconds to get my bearings. I was curled up on my side, as usual, but at the edge of a bed that wasn't mine. I was facing a wide window looking out to the wrong side of the garden, and through which the sun rays were creeping in with an unusual greenish tone, being filtered by the foliage of a tree that didn't belong in my usual morning-first-sight setting.

Also, I was being roughly shaken from behind by a cold hand that must belong to the owner of the cold, annoyed, drawling voice that was grumbling rather sleepily:

\- Oi! It's morning already! Get lost, wench!

I jumped up and looked down to find Draco Malfoy bare chested and sprawled across most of the width of the bed, with one arm over his face, shielding the light.

\- You do realise you're in my house, right? – I said harshly, loudly.

Of course he winced and clutched his head painfully, before tentatively opening one eye to glance around and then at me. I had to keep myself from sniggering as his eyes went wide and he bolted to a sitting position, which again prompted his wincing and clutching his head painfully.

\- Tori? – he said stupidly, squinting around in obvious confusion – What…? How…?

\- You don't remember anything about last night?

He seemed to ponder the question for a couple moments before murmuring, probably more to himself than to me:

\- I was at the pub for a drink… Then some rotter looked down his nose at me and said something about Father… - his face turned into a scowl – Then Longbottom came and kicked me out… Then…

His scowl turned into a frown of utter confusion and he looked down at himself, found himself shirtless and seemed to wince at discovering the Dark Mark uncovered. Tucking it out of sight, he looked up at me rather warily and asked:

\- Did we…?

\- No, we didn't do anything. – I replied sharply.

He seemed relieved, which some small tiny part of me took as a bit of an offence to my desirability.

\- I ran into you, drunk as a skunk stumbling around Diagon Alley. You couldn't even tell me where you live, so I brought you here and stayed with you in case you needed something. – I explained curtly, before adding as an afterthought - How are you feeling, by the way? Is something hurting?

\- Just my head.

\- That would be the hangover. I think I'll let you keep it, as a token of your foolish behaviour.

He looked at me somewhat sulkily but didn't protest. I sighed and went to sit beside him on the side of the bed. And that's when I caught sight of the clock on the night table and jumped up in alarm, squealing:

\- Merlin's bum on fire! It's this late already?!

I rushed out the door and into my bedroom. No more than seven minutes later, I, already showered and dressed, was quickly saying to a somewhat bewildered Draco, who hadn't done much more than slump back wearily against the headboard:

\- I found an old shirt and trousers of Theo's that I think should fit you, they're waiting for you in the bathroom, along with a bath Bizzy's preparing, and breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes, if you want. I have a seminar to go to, but if you need anything, owl me, okay?

I took his blinking for an answer and rushed out the door.

Of course, I wasn't there to see it, but from what I was told afterwards, a very memorable moment occurred when Dad caught a flustered-looking Draco trying to sneak out of the house unseen.

Apparently a rather awkward scene ensued, where the sneaky guest was made to sit down at breakfast with my family, and stuttered and spluttered trying to answer their queries as to why, where and how he had ended up spending the night in the house.

But I suppose I shouldn't really snicker, because I too had to face my fair share of awkwardness, when I arrived home that evening to hear Dad call stiffly:

\- Astoria!

It had been a while since I'd got such an ominous summons. I walked warily into the drawing room to find Dad putting down the _Daily Prophet_ with a rather stern expression. He motioned for me to sit on the armchair across from his and, as I did, Mum came to sit beside him, composing her face into an expression not much brighter than his.

Through the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Daphne, who had been sitting with Mum at the little round table at the corner, going through wedding-related scrolls. Smirking, she winked cheekily at me and sniggered.

\- Astoria… - Dad begun, rather evidently forcing himself not to look uncomfortable while regarding me steadily – I confess I find myself not even knowing what to say… We understand you're an adult woman and are entitled to your intimate life…

As red as Dad's ears were getting, it was certainly nothing compared to my face. My eyes were wide and fixed on him, but they were unseeing.

\- But I thought we'd educated you to know that, at least as long as you live under our roof, there are certain common decency norms you're expected to abide by.

My mouth was dry and my throat seemed to have clogged up. Dad's seemed to be going the same way, because he had to clear it forcefully before continuing:

\- So you understand that secretly receiving boys in your room is not the sort of behaviour we would expect of you.

It was the look of disappointment in Dad's clear blue eyes, exact mirrors of my own, that prompted me to find my voice. With my face practically melting, I said urgently:

\- No, Dad, it's not like that! I didn't sleep with him, or anything! I mean, I did, but not in that way! It… it was an emergency, you see. I ran into him and he wasn't feeling too well…

I opted not to say exactly what Draco's ailment had been, for the sake of his pride and dignity. But my parents weren't dumb, I'm sure they figured it out all the same.

\- So I brought him home with me so that I could treat him. – I continued, desperately trying to explain myself - I took him to Lottie's old room, but I was so tired I ended up falling asleep there, too, while watching over him. That's it, I swear!

At this point, Mum was visibly struggling to hold back a smile, and Dad's expression was no longer quite so stern, either. Sighing, I concluded my rather frenetic speech:

\- I… I'm so sorry! I know I should have informed you I had a guest over, but it was really late when we arrived and I had to leave in a rush this morning, so I didn't really get the chance… It won't happen again…

Thankfully, it seemed the matter was sufficiently cleared out. Of course, my record was on my side as a good daddy's girl, which meant I could probably have got away just as easily, even if I had been lying to their faces.

So I supposed that, at the end of the day, all really did come down to one's reputation, didn't it? I, having consistently maintained my good daughter reputation, could unquestioningly depend on my parents' trust and ready reprieve. Draco, having established himself as a bully and a Death Eater, was finding it hard to gain people's sympathy and kindness.

And mine certainly wouldn't exempt him of a sharp bop on that blond head of his, the next time I saw him, for causing such unnecessary embarrassment for the both of us by trying to sneak out of the house like a crook!

Because yes, I did intend to see him again. And soon. He had a reputation to fix, after all, and the first step for that to happen was fixing his self-detrimental habits of drinking and fight-picking.

And Merlin, if I could fix a man so completely jumbled up that his buttocks were popping in the place of his face, then I certainly could get Draco bloody Malfoy to strut around again on his own two feet! And preferably without needing a Shield Charm between him and the rest of the world.

* * *

**A/N II) So here's the new chapter. I confess I was ****rather nervous about this one. Because from this point onwards, there is no more Hogwarts framing the story, so there's much more liberty to take with my imagination. I try to follow official, canonical information as much as I can, but there is still a lot for me to fill in, and I really hope you will find my take on the story plausible as well as interesting.**

**Of course, I am aware that this is all a subjective interpretation and extension of a bigger, amazing story that doesn't belong to me, and I am always available to explain my reasoning behind any plot points of my creation.**

**So, as promised, voilà the dissertation:**

**1) **My apologies for the title change. I thought the other one was a bit too long, but I confess this one doesn't exactly excite me much, either. If there are any suggestions, please feel free to share! :)

**2) **About Draco and Pansy being Prefects on their 8th year, here is my reasoning: according to canon, they were made Prefects by Professor Snape in their fifth year. I didn't make Draco Head Boy during the Death Eaters' rule of the school because, by then, the Malfoys had fallen from grace with Voldemort.

But I thought that, after all that being over, Professor McGonagall might have let them resume their role as Prefects as a sort of second chance, a sign of forgiveness for their mistakes as misguided, terrified teenagers. Because even Pansy suggesting handing Harry over to the Death Eaters upon Voldemort's threat to attack the school was, like Tori points out, the obvious first thought of self-preservation. Well, it made sense in my head, but I understand if you disagree. :)

**3) **As for Draco becoming Quidditch Captain, war allegiances aside, he was, in my opinion, the objective choice, given his talent and his seniority in the team. Not to mention that he was indeed legally acquitted of having been a death Eater and I think that McGonagall, being the stern but firmly just person that she was, would not give the example of denying someone their rightful place out of prejudice for something they had officially been forgiven for. But again, that's just the way I saw it. :)


	9. Chapter 8 - Healing

**Chapter Eight**

Injury. It is defined as damage or harm done to or suffered by someone. Injuries can be physical or emotional, and though the former are usually the most evident, sometimes quite bizarrely or even gruesomely so, the latter, I've come to realise, often leave the deepest scars.

There's a whole wing on the fourth floor at St. Mungo's called the Janus Thickey Ward. It is a long-term residence ward, which you might remember I've said had to be expanded after the War.

Many of the people who live there look perfectly whole and functional on the outside, you see. It is on the inside, somewhere deep in their core where we can't reach, that something has been damaged, without which they cannot truly live whole, functional lives.

Among those people was Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, a former adventurer and best-selling author who'd also taught D.A.D.A. at Hogwarts for a year. He was there before my time, but Daphne had classes with him and said he was an absolute fraud and that even Theo could give him a run for his money on knowledge of Dark Creatures. Apparently his weapon of choice had been his dazzling smile. Though it definitely hadn't saved him from having all his memory permanently wiped out to the point where he didn't even know his own name.

Also in the long-term residence ward lived a couple of former Aurors. Well, actually, quite a few former Aurors lived there, but these two in particular I was rather astounded to find.

You know Neville Longbottom, the back-talking snake-slayer war-hero? Imagine my surprise, during one of my first rounds at St. Mungo's, when in came Longbottom and walked straight to the delirious woman Professor Spleen was evaluating me deal with. Turns out Longbottom's parents had been tortured to insanity by Death Eaters wanting to know the Dark Lord's whereabouts after his first fall, intending to return him to power.

From then on, I'd made a point to personally ensure that the plants and flowers Neville brought for his parents were always well watered and tended.

But the Longbottoms were far from being the only victims of Death Eaters in the ward, or even the only with familiar names and familiar faces visiting.

Remember Eve Nussembaum, the girl in my dormitory at Hogwarts that was particularly prone to making me lose my temper? You might remember this whole narrative begun with her throwing a fit and me saying she'd been particularly sensitive and whiny during those months of the Dark Lord's rule, though the reason would only later become apparent to me.

Well, one of the most baffling cases in the long-term residence ward was that of a wispy old wizard with hair so white and skin so pallid, he could pass for a ghost. His file identified him as Christoff Nussembaum. I say his file identified him because he didn't say a word himself.

Mr. Nussembaum, Eve's granddad, had been unable to prove his ancestry and gone on the run from the Muggleborn Registration Committee during the Dark Lord's regime, but had been caught by the Death Eaters. Whatever they had put him through, he never again recovered. Physically, all his injuries had long been Healed. But the fact remained that, despite ours and his family's best efforts, he lay on his bed day after day, utterly silent and unmoving, staring unseeingly at the ceiling.

These were, of course, extreme cases, cases where the hope for recovery was, unfortunately, almost non-existent. I say "almost" because I could not have witnessed Harry Potter return from the dead to win a losing battle and not believe in miracles.

But the War had left those kind of unseen profound scars on many more people, who weren't necessarily hospital-bound and who, with a little time and patience, might yet be able to take their lives back.

It was with that thought in mind that I made my way to the Leaky Cauldron one night after work. It was a low night at the pub, with just a few middle-aged customers having a late supper or a night cap.

I walked to the counter, where Hannah Abbott, the old innkeeper's apprentice, was making a few glasses and dishes wipe themselves on a kitchen towel.

\- Hello. – she greeted with a kind smile – What's it going to be?

I asked for a tea and sat there calmly sipping on it, while keeping an eye on the entrance. After a while, I ventured to ask:

\- Er, Hannah?

Her face turned to me with her kind smile in place, encouraging me to go on:

\- Well, I was wondering if Draco Malfoy has come around here, lately…

I noticed her smile slide off and her lips purse slightly, before she responded:

\- Oh, he has come here, alright. Shows up late in the evening, empties an entire bottle of Firewhiskey and threatens to curse anyone he even dreams is looking at him funnily…

Hannah broke off to go wait a couple of goblins who'd just taken a table at a corner and who, judging by their uniforms, were fresh out of a long day at Gringott's Bank.

\- Does he come often? – I asked when she returned.

\- Malfoy? Well, he's not exactly a regular… - she said, thoughtfully – He was here a couple of weeks ago. Got into a fight with another customer, blasted a table and nearly hit me, trying to hex him. Thankfully, Neville came down and was able to neutralise him and get him out of here before the damage got worse.

\- And he hasn't come back since?

\- No. Neville must've said something to him when he took him outside… But look, Neville's just arrived, you can ask him. Hey, Nev!

I turned back on my seat to see Neville Longbottom, who had clearly been crossing the bar toward the stairs leading to the upper floor, switch directions with a somewhat pleased smile appearing on his tired-looking face.

\- Hi, Hannah! – he beamed, before noticing me and exclaiming – Oh, Healer Greengrass! Hullo!

\- Oh, Tori's fine – I replied cordially, then adding playfully – Auror Longbottom.

He chuckled good-naturedly and took a seat beside me, watching as Hannah prepared his "usual".

\- So you're staying here at the inn? – I asked him.

\- I keep a room upstairs, yeah. This way I'm closer to the Ministry, you see. And the Hospital, too…

\- We were just talking about that fight that broke out here a couple weeks ago. – Hannah said, placing in front of him a mug of hot chocolate with an "N" carefully drawn in whipped cream.

I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from sniggering, though I admit I couldn't help thinking how no one had ever carefully prepared me a personalised beverage.

\- You know, when you had to stop Malfoy from wrecking the bar and nearly blowing me up. – she added, rather breathlessly.

I thought that was a bit unfair, Draco surely hadn't meant to harm her nor destroy her workplace. But I noticed the way Longbottom seemed to puff up at the idea of having saved the damsel in distress, and so I chose to let them have their fairytale-like flirt. Honestly, what was it with everyone trying to live in fairytale land?!

\- Yeah, - I said, lest they got lost gazing into each other's eyes or something, and completely forgot I was still there – I was wondering about Draco, Hannah said you saw him out…

\- Oh, yeah, I took him out to the courtyard. – Neville replied, dragging his eyes to me - Figured some fresh air might cool his head… He sneered at me, tapped the bricks and stumbled off to Diagon Alley. Probably headed to Knocturn Alley…

\- What makes you say that?

\- Well, that's where I've seen him wander off to a few times after leaving the pub… Why, did something happen? Did he do something to you?

It was my turn to purse my lips. No, of course Draco hadn't done anything to me. He wouldn't really hurt anyone, he was the one hurting. But I suppose it was easier to see the blame than the hurt, when they themselves had been hurt, too. So I replied:

\- No, no, I'm just a friend trying to help.

\- Well, he needs all the help he can get, that one… - Hannah murmured.

I didn't linger much longer, since Mr. Firewhiskey wasn't likely to show up, and I didn't want to intrude on whatever was going on between Hannah and Longbottom. My tea finished, I asked them to please contact me should Draco come around the pub again, and took the Floo home.

The call came one evening when I had somehow been roped into the multi-coloured, frilly, lacy, gauzy, glittery festival taking place in our drawing room. It was the dress fitting.

Madam Malkin, from Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, had been called to the house. And with her had come a Never-Ending Clothes Rack that was spiralling out of her trolley and all around the room, displaying all manner of textiles imaginable.

For what felt like two eternities and a half, Madam Malkin's self-reliant measuring tapes had been thoroughly taking every measure of every woman in the room. And I do mean every single measure, as in even the length of the neck and the width of the toe. And I also do mean every single one of the women there, which included the bride, the seven bridesmaids, Mum, and three flower girls.

I had long half-concealed myself with my tome on _Medicinal Herbs and Concoctions_ between the turquoise and sunset orange sections of the interminable display, trying to get some studying done for my upcoming exam.

And also hoping to escape Pansy's current fate of being stuffed into a lung-crushing corset and draped in a sea of pink frills, like a pin-stuck drag-queen scarecrow. Worse yet, some pin must have been wrongly stuck and paralysing her facial nerve, because she appeared to be grinning at her reflection.

Anyway, somewhere in that miscellany, an owl appeared. Panic ensued, lest the bird should befoul the precious cloths with inopportune physiological bowel movements.

As if our society's most popular and long established form of communication hadn't already more than proved to be specimens of extraordinary intelligence and self-control. Perhaps even superior to those of some witches present, apparently.

The owl was quickly shooed away, and my hideout overturned as the message was brought to me.

_He's just arrived._

_Hannah_

I set off at once. Or at least I intended to.

\- Where are you going? – Daphne demanded from inside something that looked like a giant white pastry.

\- Out.

\- No, you're not. You have to have your robes fitted!

\- You already have my measurements, and my dress is going to be like all the other bridesmaids' dresses. – I said, wearily - I can be more useful elsewhere.

\- Tori, I swear if you leave, I'll choose the pinkest, frilliest, laciest, most low-necked dress I can find, especially for you to wear!

\- You do that and I'll wear it with a dragon-hide jacket and Converse.

Well, you can imagine that quite a bit of bickering ensued, then Mum tried to intervene, and then I had to find my way out of the maze of clothes rack, and long story short, I arrived at a rather stuffed Leaky Cauldron to the news that:

\- He's already left. Too crowded for his taste.

Without my hopes too high, but with nothing much to lose, either, I stepped out to Diagon Alley. And then, recalling Neville's information, I ventured into the wizarding shopping district's Dark counterpart.

Let it be recorded that that was my very first time going to Knocturn Alley. Because no, not all of us Slytherins dedicate ourselves to collecting such items as shrunken heads and poisonous candles, nor do we all practice the sort of magic that would require such ingredients as graveyard dirt and human skulls.

I realised the working hours in this street must be different from those of the regular shops in Diagon Alley, because despite the lateness of the hour, a man that must have been almost certainly part-troll, clad in a bloody butcher's apron, quite insistently invited me to take a look inside his shop, "D'Myse Body Parts Emporium". I politely refused. And a few paces ahead, a woman looking like the Muggles' worst version of a witch tried to lure me into her decrepit-looking baker's with a trey of "eyeball pastries, fresh out of the oven".

By the time I passed a barber's with entire scalps hanging in full display on the shop window, I was seriously considering calling it a day and go home. But that's when a glimpse of platinum-blond hair caught my eye. And in a dimly-lit tiny back alley I found its owner.

He was leaning sideways against the brick wall and seemed to be talking to someone. On closer look, I realised it was actually two someones and he wasn't so much leaning on the wall as propped with one arm around one of the girls' shoulders, while the other seemed to be burying her face in his neck.

While I was trying to decide whether or not to go away as quietly as possible, a bit of giggling and a rather simpering voice carried out to me, saying:

\- And did you, like, use a lot of really Dark spells? I once heard about something like an Entrail-Expelling Curse…

\- Yeah – came Draco's drawling voice, perhaps a bit slurry – Entrail-Expelling Curse, Flaying Curse, the Unforgivables, the lot…

\- That's so hot! – the girl exclaimed breathlessly, and next second Draco's face was smashing against hers.

The second girl was forced to part from his neck and, dissatisfied with the change in predicament that left her unattended to, must have done something I couldn't quite catch from my viewpoint that elicited from him a deep, husky growl. As she looked up with a self-satisfied lascivious smirk, I recognised her as Romilda Vane.

She'd been in my year at Hogwarts and, even though I unwaveringly abhor labels, I'm bound to say that if ever there was an epitome of the Gryffindor stereotype, it was her. Overly self-confident and conceited, she loved to prove exactly how pushy and bold she could be.

I distinctly remember one time in third year, after a Herbology class in early winter, when she dashed off down the sloping grounds and plunged fully-clothed into the Black Lake, just because another idiot had dared her to. Of course then she almost had to be carried back to the castle, she was shivering so hard, and spent the night in the hospital wing drinking spoonfuls of Pepperup Potion.

Her latest irreverent statement was now evident in her heavy eye make-up and the single bright red lock in her thick black hair, the latter of which Draco proceeded to grasp forcefully, making her purr:

\- Aw, bet you made a lot of people scream, didn't you?

\- Yeah, himself especially. Like a frightened little girl.

They were startled out of their odd three-way embrace, the first girl jumping flat against the wall and Draco swaying a bit on his feet at the sudden loss of support.

\- Must have been the sexiness of all the people being tortured and killed all around! – I went on harshly, approaching with my expression surely turned into a mask of utter disgust.

Romilda looked me up and down with a look of vague recognition and a stance of defiance, with her chin up and her arms crossed over her chest. She seemed about to retort, but Draco beat her to it, exclaiming rather stupidly:

\- Tori?! – then with a pitiable attempt at his old smirk, drawled – Came to join the fun, have you?

\- I might, if there was any, – I replied coldly – but all I see is three morons in a pathetic display of imbecility.

\- Who the hell are you? – demanded the first girl.

She was no one I recognised but, even with her heavy make-up and dragon-shaped eyebrow piercing, I figured she couldn't have been older than sixteen.

\- I'm the one who's going to report you to the Ministry for suspected support of Death Eaters' activities!

That seemed to scare her. And Romilda a bit, too, so much so that she didn't oppose when the younger girl turned to her, saying in alarm:

\- Rommy, we'd better be off. My parents will kill me if they find I'm here!

When they were gone, I turned my censorious glare to Draco. He was leaning on the brick wall with his arms folded over his chest and a scowl on his face.

\- You happy? – he sneered.

\- No, I'm very sad, actually. What about you, are you happy?

He glared back at me for a second, before composing his face into a cold sneer and drawling snidely:

\- Well, I was about to be, before you came along and threatened my little friends away.

\- I see. – I retorted coldly, then remarked sadly – You know, I never thought I'd see Draco Malfoy completely lose all self-respect.

His sneer slipped off and he was back to glaring at me, hissing:

\- Bugger off, Tori!

I ignored him and went on:

\- You realise, of course, that they're only excited by the danger you represent, by the idea of the forbidden Dark Side that everyone else abhors. – I replied, calmly - And you also realise, I'm sure, that as long as you settle for playing that part, as long as you accept that label, you're never going to amount to anything more.

\- And what the hell is it to you?

What was it to me whether he lost himself in a downward spiral of self-destruction or let go of the past and made something with his life? Well, he had once found me lost and stumbling in the middle of a chaos, too. And he'd taken the time and care to steer me through it and to a safe place, had he not? And everyone else might choose to focus on the indelible Dark Mark on his arm, but I saw the yet reversible dark circles under his eyes. Besides, I'd never been one to simply go with the flow.

\- Well, I've always hated labels. – I shrugged.

He glared some more but as I stared right back at him, his expression softened, and he mimicked, teasingly:

\- "There's no Malfoys or Greengrasses here, no Purebloods, or Slytherins, or Death Eaters, or any labels at all!"

\- You remember that?! - I exclaimed, completely taken aback by the fact that he'd memorised my words from years before.

He smirked.

\- I also remember your enthusiastic… er… dancing, and you calling me… What was it? – he clearly pretended to have to think for a second, before his smirk widened and he drawled – Oh yeah, "tropical sun".

\- Shut up! – I grumbled playfully, and he laughed.

That's when I decided that a replay of that school trip into the Muggle world might be just what he needed in order to break away from, and realise that there was more to him than, said labels.

Well, maybe not exactly a replay, considering that pubs, whether Wizarding or Muggle, were exactly where I was trying to keep him away from. But something along that line.

* * *

A few nights later, Draco and I stood on a busy Muggle street staring at a building with flashy big letters above the door reading "Cinema".

According to my research, going to these places was a popular Muggle evening activity, and one which didn't involve alcohol. Or much interpersonal communication. Which was good because neither of us had much experience or inclination to deal with actual Muggles.

\- I'm not going in there. – Draco stated, scrunching his nose into a superior sneer. Except it was clearly designed to cover up for his nervousness.

\- Come on, it's supposed to be fun! – I said, encouragingly, though trying to disguise my own apprehension, as well.

I mean, it is one thing to go into a Muggle pub, which is fairly similar to our own pubs, so one has some idea of what to expect. It is something else entirely to venture into a completely unfamiliar sort of place, of which there is no equivalent in our world to guide us by.

\- Apparently it's like watching a huge T.V. – I informed, hoping information on the subject would make it seem less unknown and intimidating.

\- What's a T.V.?

\- I don't know, but apparently Muggles love watching it.

\- Tori, I don't even know what to do in there!

\- Well, we go in, see what the Muggles are doing, and copy them. How hard can it be?

We did. And what the Muggles were doing was head over to a counter, exchange a few words with a Muggle girl that must have been about our age, receive from her buckets of popcorns and some slips of paper I supposed were tickets, and then go down a corridor lined with numerous flashy, coloured posters. The latter of which immediately elicited from Draco a supercilious sneer:

\- How pathetic! They don't even move!

After a somewhat childish little pushing scuffle over which of us would step forward and talk to the Muggle at the counter, which apparently I lost, our first challenge emerged.

\- We would like two tickets. – I said to the girl, then reminding myself to add - Please.

\- For what?

Draco and I immediately exchanged a look questioning the girl's mental acuity.

\- Er, for the film. – I replied, only barely holding back a "Duh!".

\- Yeah, but which one? – she replied, with a clear implicit "Duh!" of her own, while proceeding to point upward to the row of flashy unmoving posters hung above.

Oh, so there was more than one! I glanced over the indicated posters, but none held any meaning whatsoever.

\- The next one. – I decided, hoping I sounded a little more certain and knowledgeable on the subject than I actually was.

\- Room 4, to the left at the end of the corridor. – the girl said, handing me the tickets – Starts in ten minutes. Anything else? Popcorns, drinks, crisps?

\- Do you have Coca-Cola?

She did.

\- Oh, and Smarties?

She didn't. But apparently a vending machine at the end of the corridor was supposed to have. After a rather complicated transaction with unfamiliar paper money, me, Draco, and a nearly bucket-size cup of Coca-Cola, made our way to said machine.

Indeed, there were Smarties on display, but apparently only accessible by solving a rather unappealing puzzle of number-code dialling and coin inserting. Unless, of course, you happened to be a witch or a wizard in possession of a wand and knowledge of a basic Summoning Spell.

Room number four turned out to be a wide auditorium with several rows of seats much like armchairs facing a wall almost entirely covered by a screen.

Draco made a point of not sitting before thoroughly Scouring our seats. Yes, he can be snobbish that way. And then, when a small group of teenagers seemed to be making their way to the seats beside ours, he even skilfully changed the numbers, so that the rather perplexed group ended up scattered on the furthermost corners of the room.

\- We're already in a room full of them, they don't have to practically sit on our laps! – he retorted to my questioning look.

I pretended not to notice how he jumped when the lights went out and loud music suddenly blared all around the room. He did the same for me. With our eyes wide, we saw the huge screen alight.

\- It's like our photographs! – Draco whispered a few minutes into the film.

\- Yeah, but with sound! – I replied in the same tone – And so many people keep coming in and out, and even the background changes! How do they manage that?

\- Whatever! It's not that special, really. We've got much more impressive…

\- Sshh!

We both glared at the fat Muggle twisting himself on the seat ahead to address us in such a manner.

\- You have a problem, Three Chins?

I suppose I should have seen something like this coming, I mean, it's Draco Malfoy we're talking about here.

\- Yeah! - spat the Muggle, with a sneer nearly matching his - You two idiots won't shut your front holes!

\- Draco, - I hissed, hastily lacing my arm tightly through his as the tip of his wand came into view peeking out of his sleeve – let it go. We can simply use a Muffliato…

\- I'm not lifting a finger to comply with a pig of a Muggle's demands!

Of course he wasn't, what else had I expected? And needless to say, the man wasn't happy with his words, either.

Well, long story short, of course we were eventually allowed to resume peacefully watching a couple of Muggle spies or something take out some evil extra-terrestrial creatures and save all humanity, while talking as much as we pleased.

\- Of course they had to save the world! – Draco sneered as we were exiting the room at the end of the film – God, I hate righteous little heroes!

As I snorted, rolling my eyes, the fat man from before scurried by, shooting daggers out of his eyes while taking care to give the two of us a wide berth. Draco sniggered, then taking an amused glance at me, drawled, smirking:

\- Why, Little Tori, I think you managed to spook the big fat Muggle!

\- Shut up! - I grumbled, with a sense of dread rising up in me.

And it must have been evident on my face, because Draco immediately stopped smirking and, halting to face me directly, said:

\- Tori, it's okay, it was just a Body Bind Curse! You didn't really hurt him.

\- I think he would disagree with you…

\- Well, I think you actually did him a favour, you know, keeping him sat so comfortably watching the whole film! Otherwise, he would probably have ended up twisting his fat neck, you see, turning back to complain every time I threw a popcorn at his fat greasy head!

If that was supposed to help, it didn't. The fact remained that I had magically restrained the Muggle in the spur of the moment.

\- I'm going to be in so much trouble if the Ministry gets word of this!

\- I doubt they will, since there's no one here to tell on you. – Draco said, reasonably – But if they do, we'll tell them it was me who hexed him.

\- That we'll most certainly not do!

\- It's fine, everybody already thinks I go around hexing people left, right and centre, just for the fun of it.

And that was exactly why we'd come to a place far away from all that, to begin with.

With the frightened Muggle disappearing into a throng of unsuspecting, oblivious Muggles going about their business without so much as a glance in our direction, my little panic attack subsided.

\- Everybody also thinks you wouldn't be caught dead in a Muggle building, and yet here you are. – I finally replied, much more calmly, with a victorious smile.

\- And everyone will continue to think that way! - he said in a rather warning tone.

Yeah, like I would want to go about advertising I'd been sneaking around the Muggle world, either!

\- Well, and I was merely curious to see what sort of leisure programme you'd manage come up with, Little Tori. – Draco said, going back to his laidback, snobbish drawl – And I confess it's been, surprisingly, somewhat entertaining…

Then placing one arm casually around my shoulders, he added as we stepped out onto the still buzzing Muggle street:

\- So c'mon, let's see what else you've got to show.

In truth, I didn't have anything else planned. I hadn't thought he'd be up for more than one Muggle experience in one evening.

So we basically just strolled around, vaguely watching the mundane Muggle life going on all around us, and talking animatedly, like two regular old friends reunited after over three years.

And you may find it hard to believe, but Draco could actually maintain a conversation that didn't revolve around him boasting about how rich and pureblooded he was, or how pathetic Harry Potter and Dumbledore were. In fact, he seemed much more inclined to listen than to talk, and much more interested in my experiences in Florence than in himself and his status.

We walked around for a long while. During which none of us hexed anybody, I might add. Not even the raggedly-clad man covered in tacky luminous goggles and rings and hats that tried to sell us "lovely roses for the lovely couple". Though Draco did use magic to get out of that one.

Cutting across the man's attempt to bargain a price for a half-wilted rose, he said haughtily:

\- Go find someone else to foist your dying weeds on, you tramp, this lady already has flowers.

And with that, he reached behind his back and next second, presented me with a freshly-Conjured magnificent bouquet of blue roses that matched the exact tone of my eyes.

Of course Draco was still sniggering spitefully at the man's bummed and humbled face by the time we reached a fairly secluded alley to Apparate home.

Like I said, I don't much care for Apparition, but I wasn't about to admit to that weakness, especially not when he was still laughing at a poor man because of one lousy flower. So I said quickly, and perhaps a little more forcefully than I'd intended to:

\- Well, good night, then.

He looked back at me a bit perplexed.

\- I'll take you home.

When I didn't take his extended hand, and instead placed on it his ostentatious bouquet, his perplexity doubled.

\- Tori, these are for you.

\- No, – I replied – these were for your ego. And for that poor vendor's humiliation.

\- That pestering shabby Muggle?!

\- Draco, the whole point of this evening was to get a break from the ideas our world has of who we are. And, I don't know, somehow I thought you'd learned by now that you don't have to put other people down to make yourself feel better…

He eyed me keenly, before sneering coldly:

\- Is this still because of those grapes I supposedly had you peel for me when you were an ickle firstie?

\- No, it's because after nearly a decade later, the principle hasn't changed. So how is everyone else supposed to believe that you have?

Draco was clearly about to retort nastily, but then seemed to think better of it, and said, with an underlying hint at an apology (which was, understandably, as much as his pride allowed):

\- We come back for a do-over?

So we did. Repeatedly. I don't even know how many films we watched throughout the next several months. I found myself rather fond of comedy and animation films, Draco developed a taste for the gangster and science-fiction genres, and we both agreed that we could do without any more horror in our lives.

And then we discovered a cinema with an adjoined entertainment arcade. We spent hours in the pinball and air hockey machines. The games were rather simple, really, but allowed for some fierce friendly competition. Especially because we both sneakily tried to outmagic the other's difficulty level.

We even ventured to a Muggle sporting event once, but we both agreed that it had nothing on Quidditch.

We didn't exactly interact with the actual Muggles, really, aside from the most basic exchanges to place orders or make purchases. But the Muggle world itself had some appeal in the escape and anonymity it offered.

I noticed the gradual change in Draco's stance; his defensiveness tone down and easiness settle in, a new pep to his step and a lift to his chin, every time we stepped into this wide, unfamiliar world where nothing about his presence elicited resentment, bitterness or indignation. Not even the Dark Mark on his left forearm.

Yes, it goes to show how much more at peace he was, that one day, when the days were growing longer and the evenings growing warmer, he went and offhandedly rolled up his sleeves.

We were sitting on the terrace of a nice café we'd discovered a couple weeks before, overlooking the seashore. I myself had been wearing t-shirts and summery blouses for weeks, but Draco had scrupulously taken care to always go out in shirts and long-sleeved polos. Up until that point when, like I said, he simply decided to roll both sleeves of his pale grey plaid shirt up to his elbows. In public.

The scars on his forearm were looking much better. Mostly thanks to my regular ministrations throughout the previous weeks, ever since he'd admitted to remembering flashes of that night I'd taken him home after finding him stumbling around Diagon Alley, and acceded to let me take a professional Healer look at it again. Also, he'd stopped trying to maim the brand off of his skin.

\- So, yeah, – he continued his argument nonchalantly, as though a major step in his recovery wasn't happening at that moment – Nott's said he'll get me tickets from someone at the Magical Games and Sports Department, and we can see the Magpies take out your precious Harpies live on front row seats.

I reckon another parenthesis is in order here, to explain that my soon to be brother-in-law was now an official Ministry employee. You might remember that, after the Battle of Hogwarts, he had been sentenced to community service in the Muggle Liaison Office. Well, apparently he suited the job, or the job suited him, better than most of us had expected, and he'd ended up staying there.

Anyway, back to the sleeve rolling and evil tattoo showing. If Draco wasn't going to make a big deal out of it, then it wasn't my place to, either. So I merely replied to his argument in an easy-going tone not unlike his own:

\- Well, I doubt we can.

\- I promise we can. – he assured me, then adding with a playful sneer – I've been playing really nice, you see. I'll have you know that the last time I was at the Leaky Cauldron, Scarhead's little war heroes gang was there celebrating, I don't know, Weasley discovering what his new money is for or something, and I only Conjured a spider in his glass three times.

And he took a sip of his Coca-Cola (yes, I'd managed to make him a fan of the beverage) with a proud smirk across his face.

\- Actually, I meant that we can't see the Magpies take out the Harpies because it's the Harpies who're going to kick your precious Magpies' arse.

He broke into laughter as though we'd just watched the comedy of the century. I made his drink geyser on his face.

\- Why would you Conjure up spiders in Weasley's drink, anyway? – I asked conversationally, sniggering inwardly while he discreetly Scoured his shirt.

\- Because Weasley's terrified of spiders. – he retorted with a snort.

\- Well, you're afraid of snakes, how would you like it if I Conjured one in your plate?

As you can easily imagine, he swelled up in indignation, spitting:

\- I'm not afraid of snakes, I'm a Slytherin!

\- So am I and I know I still get chills imagining its awful hissing and spitting.

\- It was the one snake, then. – he acceded - And that's because it somehow had part of _him_ inside it that made it much eerily smarter than it should be!

As much as we'd hung out together lately, and despite our conversations having grown a bit more personal, it was still rather rare for Draco to refer to his experiences during the War. Having said that, I'd learned that he was more inclined to opening up when I too admitted to vulnerabilities of my own. Which I'm sure by now you've realised it's not something that comes easily to me.

But back to the story. At that moment, a young man walked by, carrying one of those long boards we'd seen a few Muggles get up on to glide over the waves. The look of him alone would have made Mum crawl up the walls, what with his sea-water-damaged shoulder-long hair, rough stubble and chest tattoo reading "Surf 4 life". Which I was able to see, along with his well-defined muscles (well, just because he was Muggle, didn't mean I couldn't appreciate the view), because he was wearing nothing but one of those really tight fitting jumpsuits that board-carrying Muggles wear to go in the water, with the upper part stripped to his waist.

I almost didn't mind when he accidentally bumped his board against the side of my chair. Especially because he turned back, giving me another close look at said view, while flashing a perfect white smile, drawling in a laidback tone:

\- Sorry, miss.

As Draco let out a sort of threatening hiss, the Muggle turned to him as well:

\- Sorry? Wow, cool ink, man!

I had to follow his eyes to the Dark Mark to realise what he'd meant. Of course, if Draco had been scowling before, it was nothing to his grimace now. For a moment, I feared that comment might prompt back his self-consciousness about the Mark and set back the day's progress.

Instead, he adopted his aggressive stance and seemed to be mentally scanning his curse repertoire, trying to find the nastiest to apply in the current situation. As his hand flexed, I thought he might be reaching for his wand, and so I instinctively blurted out:

\- It's from a band. Scarhead and the Snakes. He's the drummer.

That successfully drew the surfer's attention away from Draco's Mark and back to me. Unfortunately, it also turned to me Draco's nearly murderous glare. Which I could feel intensifying as the surfer turned back to him, asking:

\- Cool, man! Do you have any gigs?

I don't know how he didn't immediately shrivel at the look of utter repugnance that was all Draco responded with.

\- They're mainly a garage band, really. – I continued making up in my companion's stead - They play occasionally in little clubs and friends' parties, you see.

\- That's cool, man! Wow, I could swear your tat moved just now, man! Like, the snake…

\- Trick of the lighting! – I squealed, then quickly luring him away with a rather low, breathy tone I'd learned from too many years of witnessing Daphne, Pansy and Tracey rehearsing for girls nights out – You've got some interesting ink, too! What's it stand for?

It worked. The surfer's flawless smile was turned back to me, and his pectoral muscles were visibly popping out, as he clarified:

\- "Surf 4 life", you know, 'cause surf's my life. I've got another one, but it's not really visible right now, you know…

\- Oh, what a shame! - I continued, now in a feigned disappointed tone, casually twirling a lock of my hair around my finger.

\- Well, we could meet up somewhere more private and I'd show you…

Okay, now it was working too well.

\- Oh, I'm sure it's something like a shark… - I said, again in my regular tone, trying to back out of the mess I'd made.

\- Damn, man! - the surfer exclaimed with a chuckle, again including Draco in the conversation - Your girl's good!

\- Thanks! - said I, rather briskly - But I'm a girl of my own!

He smiled his dazzling smile at me again. Then he borrowed a writing utensil which he called a "pen" from the bartender and scribbled on a paper napkin, which he proceeded to hand to me with the instruction:

\- Call me, yeah?

The scribble read "Jason", followed by nine digits.

\- Jason!

He was already a few paces away, but turned back to look at me with that flawless smile in place.

\- Yeah?

\- You said to "call" you.

\- Man, she's funny, as well as good-looking! Call me tomorrow or so, yeah?

\- I don't think you'll hear me.

Chuckling, he walked away. He might have been pleasant to look at, but was he stupid! What was I supposed to call him for, if it would be physically impossible for him to hear me, anyway? And what was with the random digits on the paper napkin?

I turned to Draco to share this ludicrous observation, expecting he certainly wouldn't pass on an opportunity to snicker at a Muggle. I was wrong. There was absolutely no hint of amusement on his face, and it surely Vanished from mine as well with one look at his expression.

He was glaring at me with such coldness and disgust, that one would think I had suddenly turned into Potter, Weasley and Granger, all rolled up into one and after stealing the Snitch right from under his nose, riding on a hippogriff.

Thankfully, I was no longer an insecure sixteen year old girl and had had, by then, a little bit of experience dealing with his scowls, sneers and scathing glares. I wasn't so easily intimidated.

\- Oh, don't give me that look. – I told him nonchalantly, sipping on my own Coca-Cola – You should actually thank me! I've just made you a cool drummer in a rock band!

Of course he didn't thank me. Instead, he continued to sneer, perhaps toning down the contempt a little bit, and retorted coldly:

\- Yeah? Well, I'd much rather you had told him I was in one of those motorcycle gangs.

\- Yeah right! – I snorted, playfully - I'd like to see you pull off one of those leather jackets and Hagrid-style beards!

He huffed.

\- Why do I even hang out with you, again?

Flashing my most earnest, friendliest, warmest smile, I said brightly:

\- Because even former Death Eaters with a grudge against the world need a friend.

Unsurprisingly, he sneered. I smiled brighter and, taking care to ruffle his hair in the way that irked him beyond measure, I added, extra sweetly:

\- And lucky you, I happen to like you back.

At last, his face broke in that amazing crooked grin, which he seemed to have resurrected somewhere around the previous few weeks, especially for me.

And it was with a similarly recently found lightsome chuckle that he gripped my hand that was assaulting his perfectly combed hair, and yanking it, pulled me closer so as to wrap one arm around my shoulders, the way he'd also recently come to do more and more. I snuggled up against him, chuckling smugly.

Moments like that filled me with pride and fondness at how far he'd come. He was slowly, though maybe somewhat unconsciously, coming to terms with at least some things in his past, and starting to realise that the whole world wasn't against him.

There was still a long road to go, mind! He still had to accept that the concept of reinventing himself wasn't valid only in the Muggle world, where he was unknown and unlabelled, but in the Wizarding world as well, provided he was willing to make an effort.

And the way I saw it, that effort encompassed him finding a purpose. I'd found mine in Healing, it made me feel useful and grounded. He too needed to find his own place, his own role in our world, and in that way redeem himself of the role he'd taken in the past. And only when he had made peace with his past could he move on to working on the future.

But moments like that assured me that he was steadily making his way there, and that he would be alright.

At least I was sure until that accursed wedding day when everything went wrong.

* * *

**A/N: Just a quick heartfelt thanks to all of you who keep supporting this story, you know you really make my day! As usual, your feedback is the best motivation!**

**Good reads to you all XD**


	10. Chapter 9 - The Wedding

**Chapter Nine**

\- Everything is going wrong! – Pansy cried urgently to my face, positively shaking me by the shoulders, some twenty minutes or so before the ceremony was due to start.

Deep breath, tried to Summon, Conjure and Expand whatever tiny little scrap of patience I had left, and asked:

\- What now?

You see, so far we'd had to move the wedding from a specially designed magically suspended hydrangea garden to our own regular garden at Little Appleton Hall because of a sudden plague of Flesh-Eating Slugs. And then cram a tent onto it because of an unseasonable downpour in the middle of July.

Also, the wedding ring girl had fallen sick with dragon pox, and what more romantic replacement was there to be found than a fairy? Of course the sneaky vain little creature had found herself delighted to come into possession of two gleaming gold rings and flown off into the fields to flaunt them to her fairy friends.

And all that only counting that morning! Don't even get me started on the rest of the previous week. Suffice it to say that up until twenty-four hours before, nobody had even been certain there would be a wedding at all.

But back to Pansy's current dilemma that was driving her to make a milkshake out of my brain matter.

\- The gown! – she shrieked, possibly joining my ear drums into the mix – It's ruined!

\- But it's been locked in the vault for weeks! Nobody's gone anywhere near it! And I personally Transferred it directly onto Daph's bed this morning!

\- And she's spilled coffee all over it while putting it on!

Seriously? Coffee? That was the calamity that had her screeching like a Banshee?

\- Oh, if only you were a witch! – I retorted, impatiently.

\- You don't understand! – Pansy insisted – Daph's saying these are all signs!

\- Signs? Who is she, Trelawney? Signs of what?

\- That it's just not meant to be! She's calling the wedding off!

Of course she was not calling it off! She had been planning it since she was about fifteen!

Sighing heavily, I let Pansy practically drag me up the staircase toward my sister's room. Before we got there, however, we ran into a somewhat wary-looking best-man.

\- If you tell me he's changed his mind again, I swear I'll hex you both! – I said before he even had the chance to open his mouth.

\- No, actually I was hoping to talk to you… - Draco replied, seeming more nervous than his pride usually allowed to let on.

It had me instantly worried, but before I could ask what the matter was, Pansy cried, impatiently:

\- Oh, for crying out loud! Go back to the liquor cabinet and keep your useless self out of the way while the rest of us actually do something, will you!

I cut across Draco's no doubt nasty reply lest they whipped their wands out and I ended up spending the ceremony reattaching limbs.

\- Pansy, - I said - go Scour the dress and try to talk to her. I'll be there in a minute. Draco, can you say whatever it is you have to say in about fifty-five seconds?

\- Oh, er, I was just… going to ask if you needed help with anything… - he stammered, awkwardly.

This was really very odd of him, but I was a bit tight on time, so, making a note to go find him later and find out what was really going on, I simply replied:

\- Just make sure Theo is there, okay?

You see, the reason why Daphne was currently running on caffeine was because she had been up all night, crying. Well, actually make that the whole week.

Apparently, the closer we'd got to the wedding, the more insecure Theo had got. Because traditionally the ceremony should have been held at Nott Manor and it could not because there was no more Nott Manor to show; because Daphne's dowry was almost bigger than what was left of his own fortune after the Ministry had frozen his father's assets; because he didn't even have any family left to attend, etc.

Then halfway through what we were all convinced was being Theo's stag night, Draco showed up at our door with a grim expression and an even grimmer message.

As if everyone in the house wasn't already at the end of their wits!

I actually snapped. While my sister again crumbled to tears, my Mum patted her back and my Dad puffed up, red as a beetroot, I went and hopped into the fireplace. The last thing I registered was Draco swearing as he failed to grasp my wrist and hold me back.

A few miles away, he'd stepped out of the green flames and into the wide, once magnificent ballroom in which I was currently basically chewing out a slightly greenish silent Theo:

\- Either you're in or you're out! Make up your mind, already, will you! – I cried – This whole "oh, poor me, I'm a former Death Eater and I don't deserve love" bullshit is really getting old!

I heard two intakes of breath at that moment, but I was done watching my every word and sugar-coating every argument so as not to stir up touchy subjects and bring up awkward scenes.

\- So you may no longer have the life you knew before – I said, vaguely indicating the dilapidated room around us – But you have a roof over your head, you have an honest job, and you have a girl who loves you with everything she has and who wants nothing more than to start a new life with you!

A sheepish look came over Theo's face, but if he wanted to say anything, he didn't. And I was on a roll:

\- Personally, I think you're pretty damn lucky! But if you choose to focus on your losses instead of on your blessings, that's up to you! Only, in that case, take yourself and your self-pity away once and for all, and let my sister go! For good.

That's when he positively crumbled. Draco gave a tentative step forward, eyeing me as though he'd just witnessed a Pigmy Puff turn into a raging dragon. I felt a little bad, so, sighing, I added:

\- Look, Theo, you know I've been rooting for you and Daph from the beginning. What I'm not rooting for is you hurting her the way you've been doing. If you want her, then stay with her. If you don't think you're worthy of her or something, then do whatever you have to do to be worthy. But if you don't think you will ever be, then let her go, let her move on and find someone who is.

There was nothing but the sound of three breathings in the room and the crackling of the fire for a long moment. Having said my bit and concluding nobody else was about to add anything, I made to go back the way I'd come, with the parting words:

\- Just so you know, I think you're more than worthy.

And now Daphne was the one getting cold feet.

I found her sprawled on her bed, with her still coffee-stained white gown only half-way dressed, her hair all coming off of her complicated do and her make-up completely smudged. All the lilac-clad bridesmaids were gathered around on the bed, cradling her and crooning at her.

Except Lottie. She was standing awkwardly with the tissue box on her hands, handing one after another all around. We exchanged a commiserating look as I came in, gathering all my mental strength for the oncoming most trying, exasperating, senseless conversation of my life. It went on for about forty minutes, with arguments like:

\- I read in _Witch Weekly_ that rain on the wedding day is a curse of endless tears on the entire marriage! – Daphne wailed.

\- You're the one who wrote that. – I replied.

Or even:

\- It's bad luck to get married on a full moon night! – Daphne wailed.

\- So we'll keep an eye out for werewolves. – I replied.

But in the end, it all came down to:

\- He's going to leave me, isn't he?

Of course I couldn't possibly have an answer for that. No one could, really. Still, breaking all conventions and defying the most rooted superstitions, I went and fetched the one person who could come as close as possible to trying. The bridegroom himself.

While the undecided lovebirds conferred behind closed doors, I went about checking that we weren't in for any more mishaps.

Thankfully, Mum, always stepping up to the part of public relations, was skilfully and graciously keeping the guests from calling it a day and pouring out the door. And even the younger ones seemed to be perfectly entertained, thanks to my show-off of a cousin.

So I headed over to the kitchen, to make sure Mr. Felix hadn't attacked the shrimp cocktails, or that the cake hadn't suddenly been eaten by a ghoul hidden in the pantry, or something.

That's where I was just coming out from, when I again run into a somewhat displaced best-man, wandering around the service area of the house. He gave me a small smile of acknowledgement, which was again laced with a tension and uneasiness that I had scarcely seen during our latest secret escapades, and only contributed to increase my worry.

\- Is everything alright? - I asked softly as I approached, and his expression composed into careful nonchalance.

\- Yeah, yeah. Nott's finally got his act together. - he assured me, and with something of a wry smile - Of course, after your little talking to, who would dare not to?

\- Oh, so I managed to scare a big, bad Death Eater into marrying my sister?

I said it in a light, playful tone, of course, to which Draco replied with a typical derisive snort. Except somehow it sounded a bit feeble. And when he spoke, his tone was quiet:

\- Not scared, no. Put into perspective.

I eyed him for a moment. He looked almost as sharp as he had in his schooldays, in his dress robes of a deep bottle green, with his platinum-blond hair perfectly trimmed and sleeked and his skin perfectly shaved. Only the untimely lines carved into his features gave away the weariness of the years that had passed.

\- What about you? - I asked now seriously.

His head snapped back to me and, with a frown and perhaps a hint of a flush, he asked rather defensively:

\- What about me?

\- Are you alright? You seem a bit tense today...

\- Oh - and his face relaxed a little - Yeah, I'm fine.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

\- What brings you down here, then?

\- Just figured I wouldn't put up with _people_ any more than strictly necessary.

As supercilious as he'd intended his tone to be, it did not entirely mask the uneasiness underneath. I could only try to lighten it a bit.

\- Well, in that case, go ahead all the way down the corridor and then there's this little door at the end. - I said playfully, indicating with my hand - It's a broom closet, only Bizzy and the cleaning supplies ever go in there.

Draco sneered.

You see, I was very much aware of the challenge it must be for him to find himself back in a social event among our society, so far from the position he had once held. All the prominence and visibility his family had had before only contributed to make them the easiest target for the general population's resentments now, and the fact that all three Malfoys had avoided Azkaban further fuelled these sentiments. On top of that, Draco himself was, unsurprisingly, still extremely self-conscious and sensitive about looks and remarks about his family and his past, and he had never been one to take offence quietly.

I wanted to ruffle his hair just to annoy the tension away, but considering the formal nature of the ceremony we may or may not be about to attend, I refrained and simply sniggered teasingly. Which didn't have quite the same effect, because it only got him looking at me with an odd, preoccupied and slightly anxious sort of expression.

\- What? - I said warily.

He looked away, frowning, and perhaps colouring a bit.

\- Nothing. - and after another moment, glancing back at me - I was just wondering...

But what he had been wondering, I didn't get to find out. At that moment Pansy appeared, asking where the hell I had been, and announcing that the wedding was on again, and that everybody was stepping out into the garden because somehow the sky had cleared, and that we had to hurry up if we were to make it to the beautiful sunset.

So the wedding march started, and the groom was standing smiling beside the altar, and the bride appeared in a splendid white (and perfectly spotless) wedding gown that could put a Disney princess to shame, accompanied by a teary-eyed Dad and followed by a train of bridesmaids and cute little flower girls. And then the bride and groom said their poetic vows, the wedding rings were Summoned back from the fields, along with a swarm of glittering fairies, and placed on the respective fingers, and then husband and wife shared their true love's kiss and everybody clapped and cheered at the happily ever after.

And then that's when everything went wrong.

I should probably start by mentioning that we had, for a couple of weeks around that time, a guest in our house. His name was Enzo Gagliardi, from a fairly well-off Italian wizarding family proprietor of a small potionmaking company, and who had been my colleague in Florence.

Enzo had one of those jaunty, agreeable personalities that seemed to put everyone at ease and feeling like he was their oldest friend in the first five minutes of conversation. Needless to say, Mum had been absolutely enchanted with him and insisted he was more than welcome to take one of our guest rooms for the duration of his stay.

\- A friend of Tori's is an honorary member of the family! – she'd said, when she'd "accidentally" ran into the two of us in Diagon Alley on the very day he'd told me in his letter that he'd arrive.

Of course our foreign guest had been invited to join the festivities taking place in our property, which he had promptly accepted and even offered his assistance for anything he could be of use in the preparations. All this in perfectly correct and polite English with an underlying Italian accent. I swear Mum was practically drooling.

So, anyway, while everyone was entertained with the newly-weds' first dance, I took a much needed chance to sit down, relax, and take a sip of the champagne. Apparently, the best-man was thinking something along those lines, because he chivalrously took over pouring my drink, before taking the seat beside mine.

\- How many of those have you had? – he asked with a smirk.

\- Why?

\- Just wondering if there's "tropical sun" in the weather forecast for tonight.

I kicked him playfully on the shin, and that's when he noticed, with a laugh:

\- You're wearing trainers with your dress robes?!

I looked down at my black Converse.

\- Uh oh, if you can see them, then the spell is wearing off! – I said, rummaging in my miniature purse for my wand – I'd appreciated it if you didn't tell Mum. I'm really not in the mood for another speech on what type of sock patterns and knickers colour is appropriate for a woman of my social status!

He rolled his eyes and sniggered, of course. And then again chivalrously took over, performing the spell for me, while saying snidely:

\- Well, I can't wait to see how you're going to cope when it's your wedding, then.

\- You'll have to content yourself with your imagination, then, - I'd retorted with a laugh - because that's not going to happen anytime soon.

He leaned back on his chair, mindlessly observing the couples twirling around the dance floor a little bit ahead, and casually glancing my way through the corner of his eye, teased:

\- What, no Prince Charming in your life to ride off with you into the sunset on a pure white Aethonan?

I'm sure my face was an expression of utter derision. And I was about to retort that the only man I'd been riding off with anywhere lately was him, and he was hardly a Prince Charming. But I realised in time what idea that might give off and so I remarked instead:

\- Someone's grown a little too fond of Muggle romantic comedies, I reckon.

He, unsurprisingly shot me a look of utter disgust. I chuckled smugly and took a sip of my Champagne.

And then in the pause that ensued, that tense expression came over his face again. I understood that not everyone among the guests, Pansy and Great-aunt Mathilda especially, was being all that subtle about their opinions. But he had been doing well so far, keeping his head down, not encouraging hostility, being nothing but polite.

\- Hey, - I said, placing my hand familiarly on his (right) arm – I'm proud of you.

At that, his expression relaxed quite a bit and he actually smiled that amazing crooked smile of his. And then said in his typical drawl:

\- Well, seeing as you're wearing perfectly comfortable footwear, I'm sure you won't object to a dance.

\- Do you not remember the part before the "tropical sun" bit? I'm terrible at dancing!

\- Luckily for you, I myself am actually rather good. – he replied cockily, getting up and extending his hand – C'mon.

You know I really am terrible at dancing. But even though I knew I was probably going to end up embarrassing myself into the next week looking both ways to Sunday, I just couldn't bring myself to refuse him.

I took his extended hand, protesting playfully:

\- If I chase everyone away clutching painfully to their toes and hurricane Daphne comes after me, just know it's you I'm going to use as a shield!

He scoffed dismissively, then began steering me toward the throng of gleeful dancers.

I could see Daphne in her pristine white gown beaming from ear to ear while Theo, smiling a bit more shyly though every bit as earnestly, twirled her around. They didn't even see me smile at them, they were so immersed in their own little world. I saw Pansy not too far, giggling loudly in the arms of a young man with a chin so pointy it was a miracle how he didn't poke her face. I smiled at her too, but as she didn't return, I suppose she didn't notice me either.

Whom did indeed see me and even winked mischievously at me was my cousin Archie, who was for some reason dancing very closely with Great-aunt Mathilda. I cocked an eyebrow at him questioningly and he slowly spun her around, displaying a scrap of parchment taped to the back of her gown reading "Stranded. If found, Banish back to the sea"

I know it was wrong, but I broke out laughing. And even more when Great-aunt Mathilda seemed to realise something was amiss and chased my cousin all the way out of the dance floor waving her wand threateningly at him.

And in my fit of mirth, I lost my hold on Draco's hand. Which was enough to get me separated from him as a line of middle-aged women pushed their way through giggling rather tipsily. Mum among them, to my great embarrassment.

Then I hadn't even finished flushing and glaring reprovingly after her, when I felt myself being suddenly pulled by the wrist and spun around straight into a pair of lean, steady arms. At the same time a warm voice exclaimed:

\- Toh-rii! – or at least that's what it sounded like in his Italian accent – You have abandoned me on my own all day!

He said it with a smile, in a playful sort of way. But, yes, on account of all the stress and all the mishaps with the wedding, I had indeed neglected my guest. So I supposed an apology was in order.

\- Imperdonabile, bella! – he replied in the same cheerful tone – Perhaps a dance would be a way to make up for it.

And with that, he started twirling me right then and there. And then one hand was grasping mine, while the other went to my back, pressing me tightly against his hard, extremely warm body. I found myself practically smothering, my face nearly buried in the chest of his velvety dress robes.

With every note from the band, his hand on my back slowly slid downward and downward as he continued to lead me in exuberant twirls around the dance floor. When I felt it reach a little further down my lower back than I was comfortable with, I squealed something about being tired, and so the hand retreated. Only so that it could go around my waist with the rest of the arm, as I was steered toward the table with the drinks.

That's when Mum appeared, to start drooling over Enzo once more. And worse, she brought Mrs. Parkinson and a couple more giggling friends with her. Enzo didn't seem to mind too much, though, so I decided it wouldn't be too ungraceful of me to take leave of my hosting duties at this point and excused myself to go to the restroom.

When I came back, I spotted Dad, who was in a rather nostalgic mood, and I hung around with him for a bit a little to the side, reminiscing about the old days.

Next time I saw either of the boys, Enzo was talking to a colleague of Daphne's wearing such tight-fitting dress robes that her bosom seemed to be about to burst out. Draco was hovering nearby, dragging behind him an unsurprisingly clueless-looking Gregory Goyle still half-way through the process of stuffing a handful of canapés into his mouth.

"Boys!" I remember thinking rather annoyed "A nice set of curves and they'll be as good as Summoned! And hit with a Jelly-Brain Jinx!"

Soon after that, the maid of honour was being called to the stage to make a little speech. After everybody finished chuckling and clapping at Pansy's little anecdotes, it was Draco's turn to be called. And he was. Once, twice, three times.

Everybody looked around for the missing best-man. But only when somebody thought of looking outside the tent was the alarm given. Flashes and blasts of light ripped the night sky, and in the light of the full moon, the scene was plainly discernible.

On one side, an olive-skinned and curly dark-haired figure fiercely trying to fend off the jets of light shot by the two figures on the other: a beefy, hulky one and one pale, tall and lean with unmistakable platinum-blond hair.

Just as my disbelieving mind took in the sight, a flash from Draco's wand had Enzo sinking to his knees with a painful yelp. I saw him still manage to shoot a counter-attack before another flash hit him and he crumpled face-first onto the ground.

I didn't even think. I rushed forward with a strangled horrified cry that got mixed up with Goyle's goofy laughter and an all too familiar voice shouting:

\- NO! STOP! YOU'RE GOING TO HURT HER!

I didn't stop to check if his crony obeyed. Dropping to my knees beside Enzo, I quickly verified, with enormous relief, that he was breathing. Raggedly, with enormous effort and pain, but breathing.

Cries of "Is he dead?!", "Someone call St. Mungo's!", "Someone call the Aurors!" filled the air, as everyone tried to push forward to get a better look.

Mum was by my side in an instant, saying gravely:

\- Take him to the bedroom, do what you can. I'll keep everyone down here.

So I conjured a stretcher to place a barely conscious, moaning Enzo on and began pushing my way through the ogling crowd. There were a few flashes of cameras, which I suppose I should have expected, considering the place was crawling with colleagues of my sister's. I heard Dad berating them and trying to keep them at bay, but still Rita Skeeter and her infamous Quick Quotes Quill managed to stay close to my heels all the way to the house, asking:

\- What is the nature of the injuries? Was Dark Magic used? You're a trainee-Healer and the bride's sister, isn't a more experienced and impartial professional going to be called? Has the Ministry been alerted? What was Mr. Malfoy's relationship with the victim? Was it a hate crime? Were any more Death Eaters involved?

I'd come to the conclusion it was probably the best course of action not to say a single word, because anything I said would certainly be used to make the event as scandalous as possible. But still the Quick Quotes Quill dashed feverishly back and forth across the notebook floating after us in mid-air, filling page after page.

I managed to shut the bedroom door on her face, and then took extra care to close every window, keyhole or gap through which any sneaky little curious insect might try to enter.

I gingerly transferred a feebly stirring Enzo onto the bed and carefully opened his robes and shirt to examine him more thoroughly.

There was a wide dark bruise on the right-hand side of his chest. That was good, broken ribs I could fix in an instant. There didn't seem to be internal bleeding, so I quickly mended the bones.

His knees, too, were turned back to front. Despite the unsightliness of the concept, it was actually a rather easy hex to reverse.

And there didn't seem to be any traces of Dark Magic, which I confess I was extremely relieved to verify. Though it of course didn't make matters any lighter.

The whole scene wasn't exactly fitting of a fairy-tale wedding. A former Death Eater's wedding being disturbed by former Death Eater best-man and old known associate engaging in a duel with a foreigner. That was not the way to start a marriage that was already haunted by the past before it had even started, and it was not the way to put the past to rest and clean one's reputation.

When I finished patching up my injured friend and left him to rest, I went back outside to find that the band had restarted to play, the fairy lights were revolving around the tent in an intricate dance and treys were zooming about offering nibbles and drinks to the guests. But the festive mood was all but gone.

Dad was talking in grave tones with the _Daily Prophet_ editor. I couldn't quite catch their conversation but I had the impression some sort of negotiation was going on because Dad had his business face on and the other man was rubbing his hands and smiling greedily.

Mum was embracing her public relations duties again, going around trying to lighten the atmosphere with cheerful chatter. But it was obvious what the main subject was in every group, and only a blind idiot permanently Confunded would miss the tense expressions and few strained smiles at best.

\- He's alright, just a couple broken ribs. – I kept telling everyone who eagerly came to me for more information and details.

Daphne was sitting at the top table, hugging the puffy skirts of her gown and weeping earnestly, surrounded by her gang of crooning bridesmaids.

I approached Lottie, who was again standing a little aside from the group and informed me as soon as I neared:

\- Nott's hiding again. Apparently said he should never have dragged her into his world or something…

I sighed heavily. Indeed Theo was nowhere in sight. And neither was, I realised, the misbehaving best-man.

\- Where's Malfoy? – I demanded.

To which Lottie simply shrugged.

\- Rotting in the darkest pit in Azkaban, where he belongs, if there's any justice in this world! – Daphne wailed bitterly, before letting out another disconsolate sob and Pansy pulled her head back to her shoulder to continue stroking her now dishevelled hair, cooing:

\- There, there. He'll get what's coming for him, you'll see.

It broke my heart to see my sister like this, of course. It wasn't fair that after everything she and Theo had gone through, after all the effort she'd put into making this day a fairy-tale, it turned into something like a nightmare.

But at the same time, I couldn't help the dread coming over me at hearing their words. I hadn't seen Draco since he'd struck Enzo during that stupid duel. Had the Aurors been called and taken him away? Were they really going to send him to Azkaban?

With my heart nearly jumping out of my mouth, I looked desperately around for a sign of Ministry officials. Surely they wouldn't have just come and taken him away? They would have to collect witnesses' accounts, right? And I could tell them no Dark Magic had been used.

But the only ones interrogating people up and down the tent were the reporters.

I set off out of the tent, deciding the lawn was the second most likely place for investigators to be, as they would surely want to take a look at the crime scene.

And then after the lawn, I checked near the creek, then the orchard, and still there was no sign of Ministry Officials.

Instead, I found, on the furthermost corner of the grounds, where the moat met the start of a patch of wood, the unmistakable figure of Draco Malfoy. Alone.

I could literally have cried in relief that he hadn't been imprisoned, after all.

And then my worry gave way to anger. Pure and unadulterated anger.

He was leaning against a tree and, as I approached, the moonlight glinted on what was without a question a bottle of Firewhiskey in his hand. I snapped.

\- What the hell! – I cried, shoving him harshly – What the hell, Draco! Why?!

He did nothing but shoot me a cold glance and take a swig from the bottle. I absolutely lost it and smacked the bottle off of his hand, sending it smashing to the ground three feet away.

We glared at each other for a long moment. He seemed to be chewing on the words that wouldn't come out.

\- What, you've got nothing to say?! – I shouted madly at him – That's it, you just come here attacking people…

\- Maybe people needed to learn to hold their tongues!

\- He's from Italy! He doesn't know the first thing about you or your family or your past! How can he possibly have offended you?! You're getting paranoid!

He glowered at me, opened his mouth, then shut it again. And then sighed irritably and sneered:

\- Yeah? Well, that's me, the paranoid Death Eater who attacks people just for fun! Run along now, before I curse you too!

I swear in that moment I just wanted to slap him. Repeatedly. With the record of his own trial with the verdict in Exploding Ink.

\- Oh just stop! – I spat – The Dark Mark didn't make you attack him! V-Voldemort didn't make you attack him!

He shuddered at the name. I flinched too, but the Ministry had been encouraging people to fight this irrational fear, and so I figured making my point was a good reason to try. So I went on:

\- You chose to! You're not a Death Eater, you're a free man with an old tattoo! It was your choice!

He glared at me, seemed to chew some more on words he still kept to himself, and looked away with a haughty huff.

I mean, he'd attacked my friend in my house, ruined the happiest day of my sister's life and plunged my family in a scandal, and this was all he had to say, or not say, for himself!

I couldn't even put into words how mad I was. I didn't trust myself not to poke his eyes out, I was so mad.

So I turned my back on him to make my way back to where I could be more useful and less likely to do something I might regret.

\- What's he even doing here?! – came Draco's contemptuous sneer from behind me - He's no friend of Nott's or your sister's, so what's he come all the way from Italy for?

I whirled around so fast, you could hear the skirt of my robes swish.

\- And just what makes you think you're entitled to demand explanations about who I choose to invite into my house? – I cried, outraged – He's my friend!

I swear Draco flinched. But quickly composed his face into his cold, sneering scowl and retorted:

\- And I'm just your charity case. Right, got it.

\- What!

Surely you'll agree there was no possible response to such petulance. But he wasn't quite done. In fact, my inability to further vocalise my outrage seemed to spur him.

\- Why couldn't you just let me be?! – he spat bitterly – Thought I'd make one of your sickly, helpless patients, did you? Thought you'd play Saint Little Tori, saviour of the damned and broken, and barge into my life with your charity! And your pity! – then actually puffing up and looking me down his nose – I'm a Malfoy! I don't want pity!

I couldn't believe my ears.

\- Good! – I shot irately back at him – Because you don't have it! The only person here feeling sorry for you is yourself!

He seemed about to sneer some more, but I didn't even give him a chance. I didn't give the moist pricking my eyes or the lump trying to clog my throat a chance, either. Here I positively stuck my finger threateningly in the air and took a step forward to say straight to his face:

\- And you don't get to compare yourself to my patients! Because those are actual sick people who have no control over the state they are in! You, on the other hand, are a healthy, fully functional free man who chooses to sit around feeding his bitterness, instead of getting a life!

Once again, we glared at each other for a long moment. Draco seemed to be chewing on his words again, but eventually just shook his head and leaned back against the tree, shooting surly:

\- Just bugger off, why don't you!

Remember me saying I was not an insecure sixteen-year-old girl anymore and could manage his meanness just fine? I was wrong.

\- You're an arse, Draco! – I shot, a little too choked up to be convincingly mean, I'm afraid - I don't even know what I ever did…

\- Oh, shut up, Tori, you knew exactly what you were doing!

I didn't even have a clue what he was referring to.

\- With your smiles, and your touches, and your fortune-cookie life advice! – he went on, sneeringly – Thought you'd mess with my head to get back at me for not giving you the time of day at Hogwarts, did you?

And so he was back to believing the whole world hated him and was plotting against him. Even me.

It was like the past months had been for nothing. I felt tired. So tired. And his spitefulness was tiring parts of me I didn't even know could get tired. Like the part of my brain responsible for keeping my lacrimal glands under control.

I took a moment to look away and try to blink the tears out of my eyes, before going on, sadly:

\- You know, if you had me so well figured out like you think you do, then you should know that I hold absolutely nothing against you.

He let out a sound that could have been halfway between a snort and a sigh. I went on:

\- And maybe other people wouldn't, either, by now, if you actually tried to give them a reason to change their minds, instead of simply going about everyday feeling sorry for yourself and acting like the whole world is your mortal enemy.

\- Oh, save your moral lessons for someone who cares! – he spat coldly – I don't give a damn about what anyone thinks! And I certainly don't give a damn about you and your stupid pity!

I swear, between my sister and me, I don't know how the house didn't flood that night.

And you know what the most baffling part about all this was? He actually got mad at me and from then on completely ignored my existence!

It was Archie who came up with, well, not exactly an explanation for this bizarre behaviour, because there was no excuse and it did not account for how he handled the situation, but a clue as to what might have gone through that blond head of his.

My cousin, Enzo and I were hovering lazily on our brooms above the creek, the day after the wedding. The tent had been removed, Daphne and Theo had gone off for their honeymoon that morning, and the house had almost returned to its quiet normalcy.

The moment Enzo excused himself to go answer a Floo-call, Archie, cockily rolling on his finger the foam ball we'd been exchanging passes with, remarked, laughing:

\- And here I thought Daph was the drama-prone one! You beat her at her own wedding!

\- Me! What did I do?! – I protested. He just snorted, so I grouched – Well, pass the ball, will you!

He did, but along with it threw me another smirk, asking:

\- So what's the deal with the Italian, cuz?

\- There's no "deal with the Italian". – I replied in a definite tone, throwing the ball back - He's a friend of mine who's travelling around Europe for the summer, and will be leaving in a couple of days.

\- You going with him?

\- Of course not, I've got work.

\- Yeah, I suppose he's already served his purpose, anyway…

And he held the ball again, now rolling it between his hands, smirking conspiratorially at me. I crossed my arms over my chest.

\- And just what is that supposed to mean?

So that's when he decided to disclose the bit of information he had been sitting on, so to speak.

Apparently, back at the wedding, while Enzo had been twirling me around the dance floor, Archie, having successfully escaped Great-aunt Mathilda, had been laying low on the sidelines. And from there witnessed a surly looking Draco slump back on the chair he'd left minutes before.

And then his surly expression apparently grew surlier as Pansy went and took the seat I too had vacated minutes before, beside his. And Archie reported that the ensuing conversation went something like this:

\- How the great fall! – said Pansy nastily.

\- Sod off, Parkinson! – said Draco surly.

But it seemed Pansy was not inclined to comply, and rather went on sneering:

\- And how pathetic it must feel to know there was a time when practically every girl in the House would nearly snap their wands to have you asking them to dance…

\- And I went and asked you? Yeah, that's pathetic! – Draco responded – Though, of course, not as pathetic as you actually coming crawling right back every time I kicked you to the curb.

To which Pansy replied, apparently unfazed:

\- Yet which of us is now pining for some girl who swapped you for the Italian hunk?

\- I'm not pining for anybody! – Draco reportedly spat huffily, then going on to add disdainfully – And that's just some desperate idiot who's been trying his luck with every female in here for hours! I bet he even already took you for a couple of rides.

Pansy chose to ignore his attack and instead focus on needling his pride.

\- Not pining, huh? And to think that you used to share a Common Room and a table with her every day for years and even a speck of dust on Hufflepuff Table was more likely to get your attention! And now here you are, looking at her like she's made of gold!

Archie told me he didn't concur with Pansy's description. Well, actually, what he said was:

\- I mean, gold doesn't exactly mean much to Malfoy, does it, he's filthy rich. I'd say, given his tastes, he had his eyes glued on you rather like you were some super rare, ultra-deadly obscure Dark Artefact, cuz.

And he threw the ball rather briskly at me. Thankfully, my reflexes weren't yet too rusty, so I was able to catch it, but I smiled my evilest smile and said:

\- Careful there, little cousin, I'm a super-rare, ultra-deadly obscure Dark Artefact.

He snorted.

Anyway, so supposedly the conversation he'd obviously shamelessly eavesdropped went on:

\- Is that what you've been trying to tell her all day? – Pansy asked, in the same sneering tone.

To which Draco supposedly replied:

\- Some girls are worth looking at like that, you see. Not you, though, so you can stop sabotaging it every time I try to tell her whatever I want to tell her. Which is none of your business.

\- Like I would want a washed-up outlaw like you! No girl would, really. I mean, what do you have to show? You're a loser with no friends and a ruined name.

\- Sod off, Parkinson!

But Pansy was not deterred by his snarl, and actually seemed a little bit spurred by it, continuing scathingly:

\- Well, it's true! What would you win her over with? Neediness and pitifulness?

He again instructed her to go away, with redoubled harshness and rudeness, but Pansy seemed only more determined to do the exact opposite.

\- Where would you even go on a date? You can't even show your face in any respectable establishment, can you? You'd probably wind up taking the poor girl to a dirty old pub where all the crooks and rogues drink their lives away every night.

Remember when I said that when Pansy had venom to spill on somebody, she was absolutely unstoppable? I wasn't as surprised as Archie sounded (or rather unsettlingly impressed) while telling me that, although Draco's knuckles were by this time already absolutely white around the handle of his wand, she went on:

\- Well, if it's any consolation, I can actually see Sweet Little Tori scratching your back and clutching your precious hair while you go down on your knees in front of her… - and with a nasty smile splaying across her face, added - Retching the night's fill, of course. After all, she's all about babysitting the sick and crippled or whatever, isn't she?

According to Archie, Draco, looking positively livid, nearly knocked his chair to the floor getting up to leave. And Pansy was supposedly only too delighted by his reaction, chirping gleefully:

\- Oh, and Draco?

He apparently halted with his back to her. Probably trying to decide whether or not to turn back and hex her after all, according to my cousin. But his indecision was enough opportunity for her to strike the final blow:

\- The Italian hunk is actually her official escort to the ceremony. You can ask Mrs. Greengrass, if you want. He's a _close friend_ – apparently Pansy put special emphasis on the expression – of Tori's from Florence, and he's even staying at the house.

I was veritably speechless by the time Archie finished telling me this, which of course he found extremely amusing. So I forced out the first of several jumbled thoughts springing into my mind that I could put into words:

\- Mum was telling people Enzo was my date?!

Archie rolled his eyes.

\- Honestly, Tori, from everything I just said, that's your main focus?

\- Well, I specifically said I would be accompanying myself! – I protested.

\- Wow, narcissistic much?

I smirked as he had to dive forward to catch my pass, because I'd thrown the ball with a backward spin that made it seem to halt mid-trajectory.

\- Not narcissistic. – I clarified – Independent. Why should it be okay for young men to show up at social functions by themselves, but if a young woman does, all the older ladies feel the need to call an emergency matchmaker meeting?

\- So that you don't end up like Great-aunt Mathilda?

It was a good thing he was still holding on to the ball, because otherwise this time I would have knocked him off his broom. And he must have got the idea, because he quickly added:

\- Anyway, you're avoiding the point. So it seems Malfoy's coming around…

His concept of "coming around" must be very different from mine, because the way I saw it, there had been nothing to come around from before and now Draco was, like I said, pure and simply ignoring my existence.

And by ignoring my existence I mean leave the venue after those spiteful words to me without so much as a wave goodbye, and then not even deigning to respond when I'd try to call him that morning because of another one of Theo's existential crisis before the Portkey was set to leave.

As I didn't respond, Archie threw the ball, pressing on:

\- So, do you still fancy him?

I threw the ball back.

\- "Still" would imply that I did in the past.

\- You so did in the past. - he said with a snort.

The ball was back to me.

\- And here I thought Daph was the one gossiping for a living!

The ball described a wide arch and ended neatly in Archie's waiting hands.

\- You're deflecting, so I'll just assume the two of you are already shagging like rabbits without anyone knowing.

I nearly fell off my broom. Which, since I was just above the cool, gurgling creek, might not have been such a terrible thing, because my face was suddenly searing hot.

\- I'm not… Draco and I… I never… It's not like that, okay? – I stammered awkwardly. Of course my cousin laughed. I took a dignifying breath and said calmly, collectedly – Look, you know what he did for me during the Battle, I might not even have been here if it wasn't for him. And for that, I will always hold him dear.

Archie snorted and made a rude gesture to illustrate his seventeen-year-old boy interpretation of my words. I chose to overlook his childishness and continued in my composed, mature tone:

\- But those are perfectly natural, innocent, _platonic_ – and here I stressed the word - sentiments born from living through a traumatic experience together. And I admit there might have been a time, in the aftermath of the whole ordeal, when I was emotionally fragile and mistook our bond for something more. But I can see clearer now.

Archie was bouncing the ball between his hands, looking thoroughly amused and not at all convinced with my attempt at mature adulthood. Narrowing his eyes at me, he asked:

\- So, he's emotionally fragile now, is he?

He was. His self-detrimental habits were proof of that, of course. And though he'd seemed to have made some progress during the past months we'd hung out together, his latest behaviour at the wedding, with the fight-picking and the drinking again, made it clear he was in no way recovered. But of course I didn't say that aloud. What I said was:

\- Don't go making up stories, Archie. All you heard was Draco and Pansy bickering, like they do all the time.

\- He was staring…

\- He was being protective. – I interrupted – In a big-brotherly way, because that's how he feels about me.

That I knew for sure, because I'd heard him tell Daphne so, that time back at Hogwarts. Well, I had known for sure, before the wedding. Now, apparently, if his words were anything to go by, he didn't care about me at all.

I determinedly forced down the lump that thought conjured in my throat.

Archie seemed to be finally convinced, because he served the ball back to me, with the casual remark:

\- Well, all the better for you, I suppose. You can do better than a washed-up thug, anyway, and I don't think he can even ever be expected to show his face around here after what he did yesterday…

Draco's spiteful words to me were still ringing too loudly in my head for me to even want to try to defend him.

And ringing they continued as I lounged in my bed that night with my sketchpad and Mr. Felix curled up at my feet.

"I certainly don't give a damn about you and your stupid pity! I certainly don't give a damn about you and your stupid pity! I certainly don't give a damn about you and your stupid pity!"

I thought of a pair of steady arms half-carrying, half-dragging me through a chaos of blasts and screams…

"What, no Prince Charming in your life to ride off with you into the sunset on a pure white Aethonan?"

… a long-fingered, cold hand holding mine, pulling me to dance…

"… practically every girl in the House would nearly snap their wands to have you asking them to dance…"

…the memory of my lips pressing on his in a moment of unguarded spontaneity…

"And, lucky you, I happen to like you back!"

… a scowl turning into a grin…

"So it seems Malfoy's coming around…"

... his crooked smile, his arm wrapping tightly around my shoulders…

I snuggled down under my bedcovers, shutting the sketchbook tightly on the unfinished sketch of two figures embracing.

"those are perfectly natural, innocent, platonic sentiments"

* * *

**A/N: ****First of all, t****hank you so much for all your lovely feedback, especially for those of you leaving reviews in guest mode, to which unfortunately I am unable to reply directly. I hope I've managed to meet your expectations and that I will continue to in future chapters.**

**Second, yes, I did change the title. Again. I know this indecision is probably very annoying, and I'm very sorry for that. I cannot explain how, in a story that is nearly completely thought out in my head, what I'm struggling with the most is the title. It's just stupid, I'm sorry.**

**Lastly, I'm afraid the next update will take a bit longer, because I will be away travelling. But please do not hate me too much, I do intend to return because there is the whole aftermath of this mess to deal with and walls to finally start coming down...**

**In the meantime, your thoughts, suggestions and constructive criticism are always welcome and warm my heart!**

**Good reads, everyone :)**


	11. Chapter 10 - Once upon fairytales

**A/N: Greetings, dear readers!**

**No, I have not abandoned you, I just had a hectic summer (in a good way XD). I am back now, with a thousand apologies for the big delay.**

**Just a quick word to thank you for your continued support and to let you know that your reviews for the previous chapter, as always, made my day. Especially for those people making suggestions, know that I truly appreciate them and will do my best to apply them :)**

**Without further ado, here's the new chapter, a little extra-long to make up for your long wait! Good reading, everyone :D**

**P.S.: Spoiler alert for _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_!**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

I suppose you've all heard of the Tales of Beedle the Bard, right? They're a collection of stories that have been part of any wizard or witch's childhood for centuries.

One of the stories, my favourite in fact, is about a magical fountain, deep within an enchanted and enclosed garden, that grants one person per year their heart's biggest wish. The tale basically follows the exploits of three witches and a luckless wizard knight, as they band up and strive to overcome the challenges thrown at them along their way through the enchanted garden toward the magical fountain, in search of a cure for a disease, rescue from poverty, mending of a broken heart and general luck, respectively.

In seeking to complete the challenges, they come up with a cure for the diseased one, a form of sustenance for the poor one, and closure for the broken-hearted one. So, in the end, the luckless wizard knight is the only one who hasn't reached his goal, and gets to bathe in the fountain. After which he throws himself at the formerly broken-hearted witch's feet and asks for her hand in marriage.

It would be years before I found out that the copy of the book kept at Little Appleton Hall had been edited and that the "luckless wizard knight" was originally a muggle knight. Probably to keep Daph and me from getting misguided ideas about suitable future suitors, I imagine.

But anyway, it turns out that the fountain is really not magical at all. I remember that when Ms. Harrington, our old governess, read the story to us the first time, Daph and I found this absolutely senseless. We even protested quite vigorously about it at the dinner table, when Mum asked us what we'd learned that day.

And then Dad explained that the fountain was indeed quite ordinary and that the knight's bath had worked in a sort of placebo effect, because what he had needed all along was confidence in himself. And the same went for the three witches.

The moral of the story, Dad said, was that fulfilling our heart's biggest wish doesn't depend on anything but ourselves. Everything we need to achieve our goals is always already inside of us.

Well, and this story has kind of stuck with me, you see. It is called "The Fountain of Fair Fortune".

Which is also the name of a rather elitist wizarding saloon where I found myself with Mum at a little ladies supper one warm mid-summer evening.

Because with Daphne married and gone in her month-long honeymoon around South America, it now fell on me to accompany Mum to social gatherings.

Nevermind that I had about a dozen case reports to finish, protocols for a research study about poisons to get acquainted with, that I was straight from a twelve-hour shift, or that I hadn't even decided upon the subject for my thesis. It was an indefeasible duty inherent to my social position that I should be draped in fine silks, adorned with shiny bangles, and dragged halfway across the country for a spot of gourmet supper, simpering small talk and not-so-covert matchmaking.

Mrs. Parkinson was gushing torrentially about Marcus Flint and some Herbert Burke III. The first was a rather surly-looking but quite well-off Pureblood wizard in his late twenties who'd been Captain of our House Quidditch team during my first year at Hogwarts, the latter was an heir to some big art trading business or something, and both were apparently some sort of lovesick puppies who'd been prowling around her house practically flashing diamond rings.

\- I said to my Pansy the other day, I did, - she chirped smugly – darling, you'll have to throw them a bone sometime soon. It's positively immoral to keep those poor gentlemen hanging on like this…

\- I was thinking of having them duel over me later this week, Mother, would that count as a bone? – quipped Pansy with a cocky flip of her mousy hair.

A chorus of giggles and titters followed from the ladies all around while an elf retrieved the empty entrées platters.

Then Mrs. Fawley, who was actually Mrs. Carrow by marriage but had gone back to using her maiden name after not-so-distant relatives of her husband's had been revealed to be a pair of sadistic Death Eaters during the War, boasted in turn:

\- Well, I expect my twins will be both married before a year's time. Ever since my Flora got that job at the Ministry, she's grown rather close with Neville Longbottom, you see…

I had to drown my snort with a big swig of wine at this point.

I mean, I might not be exactly Longbottom's bosom buddy or the most insightful person in matters of romance, but I could tell that this utterly covetable Pureblood war-hero Auror was as close to proposing marriage to Flora Carrow as I was to marry Harry Potter.

And sure enough, Flora absolutely looked like this was breaking news to her too.

\- And, of course, my Hestia – Mrs. Fawley cheerfully went on – has been so tight with the younger Bulstrode boy so long that she very nearly wears the Bulstrodes' family signet ring!

Then Mum, probably not wanting to appear left out, put in fondly:

\- My Daphne and Theodore were just like that, too.

At which point Mrs. Fawley made a face like she'd swallowed a bite of salad seasoned with a bit too much vinegar. Then her red-lipped simper was back on her face, and she drawled a little too playfully:

\- They were, weren't they? Now let us just hope young Mr. Bullstrode has more fortunate associations than Mr. Nott…

\- Well, and let us just hope young Mr. Bullstrode will care half as much for Hestia as Theo does for my sister!

It had happened again. The thought must have bypassed my conscious brain and materialised directly on my lips.

But you know what? This time I wasn't one bit ashamed or apologetic for my unbidden cheek, not even when Mum seemed to suck in a breath and shot me a reproachful glare, with her cheeks giving the red wine a run for its money. Instead, I held Mrs. Fawley's eye steadily.

\- Oh, certainly. – she replied with another red-lipped simper. Then taking a nonchalant sip of her 1775 Superior Red, went on to ask in a dulcet tone and a rather ill-disguised smirk – What about you, Astoria dear? I don't believe we have yet heard of a gentleman, er, caring for you…

\- Oh, but I do feel perfectly cared for, - I replied - I just don't measure my life's success by my number of suitors.

Surely you won't be surprised that, by the time Mum and I stepped out of the fireplace back in the privacy of our own home, the flames were probably the lesser menace in the room, even without Floo powder.

\- Go to your room. – Mum hissed through gritted teeth without even looking at me.

\- Seriously? I'm nearly twenty-one years old, y…

\- Well, you acted like a ten-year-old today! – Mum now cried, rounding on me, eyes flashing angrily like they hadn't in quite a long time. Then shook her head, livid, and turned on her heel.

Okay, I admit that at this point I was feeling a bit guilty. Not for talking back to that arrogant, condescending woman, but for the embarrassment I'd caused Mum. If there was one thing that bothered me was my parents being disappointed in me.

So I hastened to follow her as she swept out of the room, heels clicking furiously on the floor down the hall.

\- Mum! – I called – Come on, did you not hear how she was talking…

\- She's not my daughter, you are! – she said, again rounding on me, now at the bottom of the stairs – Other people's rudeness does not excuse yours, I thought we'd raised you to know that!

There was the familiar creaking of the door to Dad's study and, sure enough, next moment there was Dad in his dressing gown and reading glasses coming toward us.

\- What's going on? – he asked warily, taking in the sight.

Of course Mum went into an effusive recount of my heinous crime, hardly pausing to breathe, let alone to let me speak. Dad heard her attentively, every now and again shooting me stern looks that only contributed to make me feel more and more like a misbehaving ten-year-old.

Still, I knew I could count on him not to be overly impressed with those pretentious ladies' idiosyncrasies and to try to instil some reasonableness into the conversation. But he might as well try to reason with a door.

Mum's pride had been hurt. As far as her friends were concerned, she had one daughter married to a disgraced criminal and another one aspiring to be an old lonely spinster, which was basically the biggest failure of a high-society mother.

And as a high-society mother, of course she had to retaliate. Not at her supercilious friends, no. At me.

So two days later, the Macmillans were dining at Little Appleton Hall. Three days after that, we were having tea in the Macmillans' drawing room. The following Sunday, I was coaching around the countryside with Ernie Macmillan.

Well, Ernie and I got along well enough, and he was always polite and courteous and sensitive and nothing but a true gentleman. But that's as far as our affinity went.

As the coach drove along the rolling hills under the bright early August sun, I found myself thinking of dark cinema rooms.

As timid little daisies sprouted along the lush green roadside, I pictured exuberant blue roses the exact tone of my eyes.

As Ernie wiped his brow and brushed his blond hair back from his forehead, I felt an urge to ruffle it annoyingly. Which was quelled almost instantly, because his blond was a wrong, sandy shade.

And every time he spoke, I kept trying to discern a hint of deride I could retort to with a jibe of my own; and every time he smiled that polite, collected smile, I kept trying to make out a sneer I could smirk teasingly at. But there never was, and so I always ended up putting on a collected, polite smile of my own that had my cheeks aching by the end of the day.

Then when I learned that plans were being made for a Macmillan-packed entire weekend at the beach, I signed up for three consecutive shifts at the hospital and volunteered to watch over the experiment subjects at the lab for the remainder of the time.

Of course Mum saw right through it. And did not let me sleep afterwards until she was satisfied that her discontent was fully appreciated.

\- Mum, I promise I'm not turning into Great-aunt Mathilda, now can I please go to sleep? – I said exasperatedly from within my sheets.

No, I could not.

\- Ernest is a charming, well-bred young man – Mum went on, pacing back and forth in my bedroom, to where she'd followed me relentlessly – with a nice background and a promising future. If you stopped being so childish, you'd see how thriving you could be together!

\- Yeah, and boring… - I muttered to my pillow, causing Mum to snap:

\- What was that?

\- Nothing. – I said aloud. And then with a weary sigh, I tortured my puddled muscles into propping myself up on my elbows to explain in the most reasonable tone I could muster – Mum, I tried. I really did. I just don't feel anything…

Well, that wasn't exactly true. I had felt something. Bored, for one; eager to be somewhere else, for another. But I figured expressing such sentiments wouldn't do much in the way of making me sound less childish and more reasonable, so I didn't.

Still, Mum sat on the side of my bed just like she used to when I really was a child. And the resemblance was all the more considering that the decorations around us still featured the Puffskein-patterned bedspread and the miniature broomstick models zooming around the bedside bubble lamp from that time.

It was all I could do to keep my eyes open, so my puddled muscles gave way and I snuggled back down in my sheets, while Mum spoke freely:

\- Tori, feelings come with time, with work, with building a life and a family…

I must have been really sleepy, because her words were making no sense. I mean, look at Daphne and Theo.

\- Your sister and Theodore's story is a remarkable one – Mum replied, starting to stroke my hair, which somehow automatically increased the weight of my eyelids – The kind that could almost come from a story book…

At this point, my conscious brain too gave way. So much so that the last thing I think I heard was Mum saying from the bottom of a well:

\- But story books are not the standard to which we should all model our lives, darling…

* * *

I woke up on my birthday with an insistent clicking sound coming from the window. Which turned out to be coming from a beautiful red, blue and yellow parrot pecking at the window pane.

I rubbed my eyes at the sight, and as it didn't vanish, I then jumped from the bed to open the window and let in the magnificent bird. Which at once soared to my shoulder with a croaked "Parabéns!" and extended its paw to deliver my first birthday card.

Or rather, birthday Howler. Because the thing jumped from my hands the moment I opened the envelope and blared a sort of samba version of "Happy Birthday" that shook the very walls of the room and brought a very dishevelled Great-aunt Mathilda still in her hair-rolls barging in, wand in hand.

So that was my sister and Theo's birthday wishes.

When I got downstairs, I was greeted with a case of multi-coloured inkless quills (which I had indeed been eyeing in the shop window of Amanuensis Quills for a while) from Dad, to "colour your life with as many tones as your imagination conceives".

Yes, Dad has a bit of a poetic vein. In fact, I had this theory that a lot of the time he spent secluded in his study "doing paperwork", he was actually secretly unleashing his inner poet and philosopher.

Then, to add even more colour to my life, I was presented with about a dozen brand new sets of robes and matching accessories from Mum. Yes, I think she was convinced that if she managed to bury my broomstick in glittery bijous, I'd finally accede to piercing my ears.

\- The lavender blue ones with the silver heels should be perfect for this evening. – Mum whispered in my ear while hugging me tightly.

She was of course referring to the dinner she had adamantly insisted in holding, a semi-formal thing with just the closest family and friends, she'd assured me. Of course, with the memory of my sister's disaster of a wedding still so fresh, I had a feeling Mum wasn't so eager to try and put on another big, fancy, formal party in the near future, anyway.

Well, and throughout the day, my heart swelled with all the thoughtful words and gestures I received. Some of which I confess left me a bit chocked up, like Gilderoy Lockhart's signed photo of himself with an extra birthday dedication entirely written in characters apparently of his own creation, or Alice Longbottom's bubblegum wrapper, which according to Neville was her way of demonstrating affection.

Neville too rather shyly wished me a happy birthday, and then Eve Nessenbaum, who showed up a little after the designated visiting hour, even engulfed me in a very effusive hug. Seriously, you would have thought I'd been in her girl friends circle all along at Hogwarts, instead of restraining myself from cursing her most of the time. Oh well, people grow up, don't they?

Then when I got home from work, I was greeted with a shower of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Fudge Flies and sticky Jelly Slugs literally down my head, courtesy of my dear cousin.

Lottie was already there too, and with a three-layer monument of a homemade birthday cake.

I reckon this is probably where I should explain that Lottie's family's old house (a double-fronted, three-storey Victorian detached) felt way too big for her alone after the War (or rather, after the war she had to go through to retrieve it from the Ministry's clutches after the War). So she gave new use to the ground floor, with its vast kitchen and ample salons, opening it to the public in the form of Charlotte's Charming Confectionery. And let me tell you, she was some confectioner!

Because no, not all purebloods are so narrow-minded as to regard the arts of confectionery and culinary as mere menial jobs fitting only of the likes of house-elves. And from what I've seen of Lottie working, it requires quite a lot of science and skill, not unlike potionmaking.

Anyway, so she was there with a huge cake topped with twenty-one candles that, when blown, turned into sugared butterfly wings that sent Mr. Felix into a frenzy, chasing them all around the room. I had to bite my tongue not to laugh when he chased one all the way up to Ernie Macmillan's perfectly polite, composed head.

Mum of course jumped at the chance to send Ernie and me alone to the study so that I could heal his scratches. I healed them in about a second all the way from across the table.

So, anyway, when the evening was over, I went to bed revelling in the heart-warming thoughtfulness of all my loving family and friends. Well, all but one.

I'm not going to lie, it stung.

Nearly three weeks after the wedding and I hadn't got a single word, or sign of life for that matter, from Draco. He could have moved to the desert and been eaten by a chimera for all I knew.

The first couple of days had been confusing, the events of the wedding and my cousin's words kept replaying in my mind and I didn't know what to make of them. My emotions ranged from anger toward Draco's behaviour to some sort of inexplicable giddiness about the whole thing.

After that came an inner struggle with my pride and sense of self-preservation over whether or not to reach out first and seek answers to the endless questions chasing around in my mind. It was a few days before the questions prevailed and a note was owled out of my bedroom window suggesting we meet up for a bit of good old air hockey and a film.

The odd giddiness and a sense of anticipation ruled over the next few days, only to be gradually dimmed and finally extinct when no answer came whatsoever. So I pushed away the hurt and rejection and let anger kick in at full mode. How dare he attack my friend, ruin my sister's wedding and say the despicably things he had said to me and then not even deign to offer an explanation or apology?!

By the end of the second week, I had made up my mind to go pound on his door if I had to, just so that I could hex his cowardly, spiteful, hideous face… well, not exactly hideous, but "handsome" didn't quite convey the same degree of anger, so hideous it was. Except I realised I had no idea where his door was.

I realised with a pang that, for all our secret escapades into the Muggle World, for all that we'd shared discovering this unfamiliar world and breaking our labels, for all the demons of the past we'd ran away from together, there was very little I actually knew about him and his life. I realised, in short, that I'd been so busy getting him to go out that I had never noticed he had never actually invited me in.

The wave of humiliation crashed over me harder than I ever thought possible. I mean, I supposed I didn't even had the right to feel rejected because after all, I had been the one who'd tried to barge into his life uninvited. I had thought I was justified, that I had some sort of duty even, to see him through a hard time like he had done for me. But it was once again established that my efforts were not welcomed.

So that's when I quelled my impertinent hounding ways and went about dedicating my time to those who actually sought my help and intervention. At St. Mungo's.

I mean, I tried to avoid cases of Scrofungulus, Mumblemumps and the sort so as to minimise my presence in the Magical Bugs and Diseases floor and, therefore, possible encounters with Mr. Macmillan (head of the department, if you'll remember) that might lead to unwanted dinner invitations. Which did happen. And which I declined as politely as possible, to Mum's great displeasure.

But from werewolf bites, to unnaturally burgeoning tentacles and antlers, to a man who was somehow broadcasting the Chinese wizarding news programme out of his ears, I got to get my hands dirty, so to speak, in a bit of everything.

It came one point when Healer Spleen literally threatened to cut down my marks if I didn't get out of the hospital right that minute. Apparently, trainees weren't supposed to exceed their course schedule without a tutor's special authorization or something. Guess too much help wasn't welcomed there, either.

So I found my sanctuary where I knew for sure neither me, nor my nicked case files for leisurely perusal, nor my trusted old sketchpad were about to be kicked out. Yet still I couldn't completely repress a feeling of aching sadness at the absolute lack of contact, of interest, of news. Especially because as each day I tried to push it back, it only settled in more forcefully with a stab of restless worry. Which turned out to be justified.

I was sitting with a glass of fresh homemade iced tea and a slice of delicious pumpkin cheesecake at one of the tables out on Lottie's porch, going through those protocols for the research study about poisons that I was really, really, really hoping to be selected to assist with at the lab.

That was the aforementioned sanctuary, you see. Not only was there a generous supply of sugar to fuel my brain, there was also no Mum or Ernie Macmillan to sour the treats.

Okay, I knew Mum was only trying to look out for my best interests, I really did, and Ernie was a really nice person. And I'm all for future-oriented persistence, I really am, but sometimes one has to know when to throw in the towel, right?

Anyway, so I was at Lottie's, drooling over one of her delicacies while trying to read the protocols for that research study about poisons, a couple evenings after my birthday. At one point, there was a flutter of wings and I looked up from a long section of _methods and results analysis_ to see a spotted owl landing on the banister on my left side. I curiously retrieved the message attached to its extended claw, which read:

_Healer Greengrass,_

_I'm not sure whether your request from months ago is still standing, but I thought I'd write anyway._

_Malfoy has showed up here at the pub again. He started threatening to burn the eyes off of anyone who looked at him, and then blasted the whole shelf of liquors when I told him he'd already had enough to drink and wouldn't serve him any more._

_Neville is talking to him outside, but I'm afraid the landlord will want to take matters officially this time. I just thought you might want to know._

_Sincerely,_

_Hannah Abbott_

It took me an entire thirty seconds to shut down my already mutilated pride and sense of self-preservation and get my behind to the nearest fireplace.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was abuzz, and not in a cheerful busy pub sort of way. From the moment I stepped out of the Floo, I could hear the whispers, the harsh words and even harsher judgements from every person, hag or goblin in the room.

A big black scorch mark adorned the wall where once a large wooden shelf had been displaying an assortment of bottles of all shapes and sizes containing every beverage the British magical population could ever fancy to order.

My eyes instantly fell on the gleam of the old landlord's bald head as he sombrely conversed with Ernie Macmillan and Neville Longbottom, who were just as sombrely taking notes on a very official looking notebook.

With my worry increased seven-fold, I scanned the whole pub for a glimpse of platinum blond, but the closest I could find was Hannah's pony tail swishing as she bustled behind the counter cleaning up the debris. She looked up as I approached and greeted me with a small sad smile before going into a thorough recount of what she'd already basically said in her letter.

She was just telling me how Neville had arrived just in time to keep Draco from hurling a table across the room when the two Aurors, having apparently finished their interview, joined us.

\- Tori! – Ernie at once greeted, courteously taking my hand – I must say I am extremely surprised to find you here! I hope this means that boss of yours is finally giving you a break.

\- Not quite. – I chuckled back – I had a house call nearby and then heard some whispers and decided to come here see what the commotion was about, and whether anyone needed medical assistance.

I saw Hannah give me a confused look but thankfully she didn't call me out on my lie. I don't know exactly why my first instinct was to lie, really, I suppose it was an automatic mechanism to prevent it reaching Mum's ears that the estimate of time she was convinced I spent at work wasn't exactly accurate. The last thing I wanted was for my sanctuary to be busted out.

\- Oh no, we, Longbottom and I, arrived just in time to prevent any injuries. But it was very thoughtful of you to come by. – Ernie proclaimed and I had to refrain myself from rolling my eyes at the solemnity of his tone – It was just another instance of Malfoy being troublesome as usual, you see, but it's all dealt with now. Would you care to join me for a drink?

\- I'm afraid I'm still on call... - I begun to politely refuse, but his words were only twisting the knot of worry in my chest even more, and I needed to ascertain whether or not Draco had been taken into custody and what legal trouble might await him. Not that he seemed very worried about it himself, having been lucky enough Enzo had gracefully agreed not to involve the authorities in the matter of that little scuffle at Daphne's wedding, he now had gone and pulled another stunt like this! So I added - But maybe I'll have a Gillywater.

\- Of course, of course, responsibility and professionalism first. - Ernie said with his polite, collected smile - I myself just clocked out, so I think I'll have a Butterbeer... It's been a rather long day, you know, Longbottom and I just wrapped up our last case, and then Hannah called...

\- Your last case? - I rather rudely interrupted to ask, while quickly taking a seat at the counter.

Ernie, who had been eyeing a small little table for two in a more remote and dim-lit corner of the pub, a little belatedly hastened to courteously pull my stool for me with a slight frown, while replying:

\- Why, yes. Neville is leaving the Corps.

Not that I wasn't genuinely surprised and curious, but what an excellent opportunity to trap Neville, and Hannah as well, into this otherwise potentially awkward one-on-one. Not to mention that the other two were far more likely to volunteer the information I wanted without my having to make too many too obvious questions.

So I learned of Professor Sprout's imminent retirement and of Headmistress McGonagall's offer that Neville filled the position of Herbology Professor at Hogwarts. I witnessed Neville's shy but earnest excitement, Ernie's gushing pride and Hannah's words echoing the latter's through a bittersweet smile. I heard Ernie deferentially reminisce about his old Head of House, then of his and Neville's adventures while in that Dumbledore's Army club and then on the Auror Corps until finally Hannah, with a sidelong wistful look in the new Professor's direction, casually joked with the slightest flush to her cheeks:

\- Well, I suppose now I'll have to put up an announcement on the _Prophet_ for a new resident Auror, what with Malfoy coming round here again to blow things up...

I felt for her, I really did. But I couldn't help the part of me that was selfishly glad for Neville's clueless reaction, because that's how he at last came through with the information I was there for.

\- Hannah, you've fought Death Eaters twice his size and ten times his cruelty. - he said - The wretched bloke could hardly find the bricks to tap to open the passage out in the backyard... I really hope he followed my advice and went home before he gets himself in some really deep trouble...

\- How deep in trouble is he in already? - I questioned with an nonchalant sip of my soda.

\- Not deeper than he deserves. - Ernie reproachfully remarked.

\- Well, - Neville put in more benevolently - since nobody was actually hurt, he might get off easy if he agrees to pay for the damage... This one last time, though.

After that, I lingered only enough time not to give away that I'd just gathered all that I wanted. Granted, I got stuck with a promise to have dinner with Macmillan in a few days, but I supposed it was a small price to pay.

Half wishing that indeed Neville's advice had been heeded but somehow knowing in my heart of hearts that it hadn't, for the second time in my life I made my way to that dingy, smelly, crooked haunt that is Knocturn Alley. And honestly, the second impression was not better than the first, I'll tell you that.

The shop window of the Body Parts Emporium still gave me the creeps, and this is from someone used to a thorough study of anatomy. The smell coming from the eerie bakery positively made bile rise in the back of my throat. The barber's window, I noticed with a sickening jolt, was proudly displaying fresh scalps. A little further down the street, an ugly dwarf standing in the doorway of a decrepit-looking building lifted up his robes as I passed. I diagnosed his cryptorchidism free of charge.

Well, and on down the street, morbidity and decadence continued to be the reigning themes.

Speaking of which, among the ratty dark rags and matted grisly manes of the few typical passers-by, a figure caught my eye. In her artfully ripped robes, tacky make-up and luscious dark curls with a single blatant bright red tress on the side, Romilda Vane strutted up the street in all her garish irreverent glory.

An irrational surge of fiery, all-consuming anger bubbled up within me and suddenly, for a mad moment, the shabby stall selling cursed blades a little ahead seemed quite appealing. That pigheaded rowdy prat better have taken Neville's advice, he just better have!

I'm not sure the painted up floozie recognised or even indeed noticed me, but I held on to the oddly self-comforting thought that the deep frown on her ugly flushed up face might have been caused by my presence.

Twisted musings, I know. If I could have got out of my head for a moment just then, I would hardly recognise myself in those thoughts.

I didn't realise I had literally stopped in my tracks gritting my teeth to watch pass by the old classmate that I'd come to loathe until a hooded figure suddenly jumped out at me.

I stumbled backwards, startled at the sight of shapeless, dirty rags towering over me and at the stinking putrid breath assaulting my nostrils and stinging my eyes. Calm down, I tried to order my instantly racing heart, don't be such a wimp, for all you know this is just a poor beggar. A fickle reassuring notion that unfortunately I found increasingly difficult to hold on to, as from under the hood came a low, ominous growl of:

\- Well, well... Are ye lost, girly?

I felt my blood freeze in my veins like I hadn't in a long time, and I could barely make out my thoughts through the deafening beating of my frantic heart. I think I vaguely registered, as if from a distance, a feeble, stuttering "N-no" drop from my lips.

\- Well then, what migh' a doll like ye be doin' 'round 'ere? - the figure again purred, taking a step even closer.

Clearly, nobody around here seemed to find anything particularly out of place about a creepy hooded figure harassing a young woman in the middle of the street. Thankfully, at this point my motor skills were reviving enough for me to start, as inconspicuously as I could, to reach inside my purse for my wand, while saying in the politest and most assertive tone I could muster:

\- Just window shopping, sir...

\- Now, girly, don' go tryin' te wave yer stick at me. We don' want this gettin' messy, do we?

Apparently, I hadn't been as inconspicuous as I had hoped. A chill ran down my spine as the hood shifted a little and I caught sight of a menacing yellow-fanged leer.

My vision went positively foggy. And my hearing was taken over by a whirring sound, which then morphed into an agonised cry emerging from the depths of my memory in the voice of Lavender Brown.

Next thing I know, my legs were carrying me down the street at breakneck speed.

Heavy footsteps followed, or maybe it was just the frantic beat of my heart, I didn't turn around to check. In my mind, they might as well be giants coming to trample me to death, and the ground beneath my feet was probably already crawling with giant spiders clicking their pincers to chop me to pieces.

I didn't even know what I was running from anymore. Memories I thought were perfectly put away kept bursting forth and overlapping reality, and I found myself almost running headfirst into a hovering Dementor that turned out to be just a dangling wooden sign reading "Borgin and Burke's".

Something about the name Burke rang some teeny tiny bell and somehow tethered me back to present reality enough for me to discern a narrow, half-concealed alleyway. In my panicked state, it was practically a stairway to heaven. I bolted down it.

Only to smack into a tall, dark robed figure whose claws locked around my arms in a vice-like grip as some kind of screeching siren went off somewhere.

I realised said screeching siren was actually my own vocal chords when a cold, long-fingered hand clamped over my mouth, effectively muffling the sound.

It was the smell that hit me first: not foul and putrid, but the most delicious, comforting, familiar scent of green apples and newly-polished broom handles, if mixed with a trace of Firewhiskey. And then I registered the familiar voice saying:

\- Hey, hey! It's me, Tori, it's me. Shhh…

Finally, my eyes came into focus and, indeed, there was the blindingly platinum blond hair and pale pointy face like a beacon in the ensnaring shadows.

You'll think me pathetic, but I swear my knees almost gave way and I nearly punctured a hole through his lung with my wand, such was the force with which I threw myself into his chest. Draco wobbled on his feet a bit, which must be partly why his arms went around me tight. And his fingers tentatively began to gently stroke my hair down my back, infusing much needed warmth back into my veins.

\- What happened? – came his voice in the slowest drawl as my breathing returned to what could be admitted as a physiological rhythm and my whole body stopped shaking like it was made of jelly.

\- I… I'm not sure... - I stuttered against the chest of his robes - This man jumped out of nowhere... He... I think...

But the more I thought, the less sense my own head made. How do you explain that you were hearing dying schoolmates at a leer from a stranger? And that your practically blacked out brain had you running from your own heartbeat? That you were seeing monsters for shop signs? Where on earth had that even come from? Seriously, my psychotic reaction was freaking me out more than the cloaked leering creep ever had. If even he had been real at all, I wasn't even sure anymore.

Draco didn't comment as he let me burrow myself in his embrace, but I thought that if I were to look up at his face, I would see him either rolling his eyes or sneering at me. At least my brain must have been regaining some sense, because it was able to properly recognise how pathetic my behaviour was and produce an adequate response. That is, having me quickly pull away with my face practically aglow.

As I did so, I verified that I was standing in a narrow nook off of the main street, cramped crookedly between two shabby, grubby brick buildings. There was hardly any light to see by but the flickering gleam coming from the gruesome shopwindow across the street, and not a monster or moribund old acquaintance was to be seen or heard in the vicinity.

I took a final, wary glance out onto the main street before I replaced my wand inside my purse, trying to gather my scattered thoughts.

Meanwhile, Draco had loudly cleared his throat and quickly stepped backward as well (as far as one could possibly move within the confined space). And now, casually leaning against the brick wall, asked in his cool, drawling tone:

\- Well, what the hell are you doing in a place like this, anyway?

Why indeed. Just like that, he managed to summon all my frustration, embarrassment, hurt and anger from the previous weeks like a temporarily Stunned beast rising up within me with a vengeance.

\- What am I doing here?! - I cried indignantly - What the hell are _you_ doing here?! Why do you always have to come hide away in this hell hole of a place?!

Something flashed across Draco's face. Surprise, embarrassment, puzzlement. He quickly recovered, however, and, composing his features into a typical haughty sneer, petulantly spat:

\- Yeah? Well, what the hell is it to you anyway? It's not like I dragged you here! You were the one running around like a chicken with her head cut off, or do you mean to say that was because of me, too?!

I gaped at him for a second. Was he serious?

\- No, Draco, it's because I developed a sudden fascination for… medieval torture instruments! – I sarcastically bit out, wildly waving in the direction of the aforementioned shopwindow across the street, where in proud display stood something akin to a sarcophagus whose inside was covered in spikes – Don't you know I've spent the past three weeks waiting on... whatever that thing is?!

Draco's eyes seemed to suddenly alight, and he positively seemed to grow five inches taller. At the mention of sadistic Dark artefacts, no doubt, because what I first thought might be a hint of a smile breaking on his lips was quickly turned into a crooked, dark smirk.

\- Well, that thing would be the "Iron Maiden", if you want to know. - he drawled nastily - They trapped the person inside, you see, and the spikes…

\- Yeah, yeah, I get it! – I snapped – You're an expert in all things dark, twisted and evil, blah blah blah. Save it, that crap doesn't work on me!

That efficiently wiped the smirk off of his face. To replace it with such a contemptuous scowl, you'd think I might have just been rolling around naked in a pile of hippogriff dung.

\- Yeah, I know! - he spat - You're rather into other kind of illegal products!

I couldn't even come up with a reply other than a perplexed "What!"

\- What what! – he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall while shooting me a filthy look - I hear you're quite a fan of your dear Italian friend's unlicensed merchandise!

I simply gaped at him, because clearly I wasn't the only one whose mind had been dissociating from reality.

\- What, you don't know?! - Draco nastily sneered, though I thought I caught an underlying flicker of uncertainty. Taking a step closer, he surveyed my face with narrowed eyes, as though _I_ was the one attempting to pull a fast one on _him_, and not the other way round. And then shaking his head, he exclaimed - God, Tori, you're so bloody naive!

Why on earth had I come running into his arms like a crying baby again? By this point, it was all I could do not to smack him across his stupid sneering face. Okay, not stupid, gorgeous, but stupid suited my irritation better.

But I would not give him the satisfaction of playing into whatever spiteful, childish piece of fiction he was trying to ridicule me with. So, I lifted my chin, crossed my arms, and coldly retorted:

\- Do you really want to go there, Draco? Because I've already told you: Enzo is my friend, yes he stayed at my house for a few days because he's travelling around Europe for the summer...

\- And you think he's travelling simply for leisure, do you? - Draco irritably interrupted, and without giving me the chance to reply, venomously shouted in my face - He's marketing his unlicensed potions! And giving your name for testimony of client's satisfaction, you fool!

I don't know what winded me the most, his words, his harsh tone, the Firewhiskey in his breath, or the sight of him so close.

In the near darkness of the alleyway and the heat of our exchange, I had all but caught shifting, shadowy glimpses of his semblance; but now, with his face inches from mine, there was no disguising the dark circles under his red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes, the hollows in his cheeks, the sickly greyish tinge to his complexion as though he hadn't seen the daylight for days. And now I could not look away.

For what seemed like half an eternity, we just stood there, eyes locked in a glare, chests rising and falling and ragged breaths intermingling to start claiming my mind into another state of blurry haziness. I faintly shook my head as a breathless, deflated voice seeped from my lips, saying:

\- What are you talking about? What potions?

Draco heaved an equally shaky sigh as he pulled back. And then looked back at me with eyes that were no longer cold or taunting, but just plain weathered grey, and said quietly, slowly and pointedly:

\- Not the kind that would be proper to discuss openly in a white veil occasion, Tori. For lonely, uptight, frustrated women...

The words hung in the air for a few long moments, but I couldn't quite grasp them.

Enzo came from a family of renowned potionmakers, who had been in business for generations. It was his family's company that supplied the concoctions for the hospital in Florence, for Merlin's sake, they were idoneous, reliable professionals!

And Enzo was so nice and neighbourly, surely he wasn't the type to do clandestine business! Everybody had such a good impression of him, Mum and all her friends had been basically drooling over him…

Oh no! Had Mum known?! Had she purchased his illegal products?! No, no, absolutely not! What about her friends? Definitely not! Those prim, proper ladies' whole world revolved around the traditional virtues and the values of marriage and family. They would abhor the very thought of such products.

And what on earth did it mean he was referencing me for client's satisfaction?!

Mrs. Carrow-turned-Fowley's jibe came back to me:"What about you, Astoria dear? I don't believe we have yet heard of a gentleman, er, caring for you…"

What, was I some kind of posterchild for loneliness and frigidity?! Oh what a joke it must be, "poor, unwanted Little Tori who resorts to clandestine concoctions because she can't get with a man"!

\- Oh Merlin… - I heard myself feebly whimper as my face turned to burning coal and my eyes stung with all the betrayal, shame and mortification.

No wonder Mum was so bent on pairing me with Macmillan, I was the joke of society!

\- Tori… - Draco called uncertainly, and the pity in his voice was the last straw that unravelled me.

\- I didn't take any potions! – I cried madly – I didn't even know… And I wouldn't have even if I did! I'm not lonely and uptight! I'm not! Just because I'm single, it doesn't mean… I'm twenty one years old, for Merlin's sake! I have time, I have plans… I... Is it so wrong that I don't make it my sole purpose in life to find a rich, proper husband?! I don't need... I didn't take any potions!

I felt the stinging in my eyes threaten to turn into a deluge and quickly turned away (not that there was much room to turn away to) blinking hard a few times. Draco was already perfectly aware of how pathetic I was, there was no need to further corroborate it.

As I focused on breathing in and breathing out, pushing away the taunting thoughts of the simpering ladies at the club, or the tutting matrons like Great-aunt Mathilda, or of Mum desperately setting me up on dates like I was some lost cause, Draco surprised me by saying quietly:

\- I know that... And for whatever it's worth, that's what I told him.

As my head automatically whirled back toward him, he cleared his throat and quickly added:

\- Well, sort of… Not exactly in those words… I might have focused a bit more on how he's the one in need of a big dose of his own potion… And then suggested Goyle gave him a hand with that, maybe even knock a few teeth out so it would be easier for him to drink…

And, as though in an afterthought, he topped off his confession with another ill-successful attempt at a cocky, menacing smirk that did little to cover up his obvious awkwardness.

Suddenly, I felt like laughing and crying, hugging him and cursing him, and banging my head against the wall, all at the same time. So the result was my sniffling one last time before almost immediately breaking into an incomprehensible fit of giggles.

Draco looked at me like I'd drowned my brain in Essence of Insanity, and truthfully, I couldn't blame him. There was no amusement whatsoever behind my outburst. If anything, it was a maddened sound born of and adding to the whirlwind of hurt, confusion, betrayal and, most of all, utter mortification and shame within me.

Taking a shaky breath and closing my eyes, I asked, feeling my cheeks flame anew:

\- Was that why you ended up duelling him?

A long moment went by with no answer, so I was forced to open my eyes and fully face him. Draco seemed to be chewing on his words and avoided my gaze, but at last, leaning against the brick wall behind him once more, muttered quietly:

\- Sort of...

A slight pinkness came over his own cheeks as he took one quick glance at me. But then went back to frowning at the floor as he elaborated:

\- I just wanted to take a closer look at him, you know, see what was _so special_ about him... - and here surely you can imagine the disdain with which he spat the words - That's when I overheard him talking to some recently divorced colleague of your sister's... He mentioned you and how he'd witnessed first-hand what you'd made of an entire bottle...

Another wave of mortification washed over me. What shameless fabrications about my intimacy had been thrown so casually about in the name of business, without a thought for my dignity, my privacy?!

\- I didn't... - I repeated, feeling a desperate need for him to believe me and to believe in me the way those narrow-minded, gossiping, matchmaking little people never did.

But he simply concluded with a nonchalant sneer:

\- Yeah, well, whatever. His accent was annoying and I felt like letting off some steam...

Disappointment, humiliation, shame and betrayal whirled within me and twisted into burning anger. At Enzo for his treachery, at Draco for all the above mentioned reasons throughout the previous weeks and now for so belatedly relying such mortifying news, but mostly at myself, for being so pathetically clueless.

But right then it was simply easier and somewhat comforting to channel it all into shooting the messenger, so I rounded on Draco:

\- Oh, you felt like it, did you?! In the middle of my sister's wedding! Because it wasn't enough me being made the joke of society behind my back, my whole family was needing a bit of drama! And never for a moment did you feel like, I don't know, maybe share this knowledge with me?!

I saw all pretence of nonchalance vanish from Draco's face as he straightened up, eyes narrowed, fists clenched, and growled back:

\- And when exactly was I supposed to do that? When you left me stranded to go dance with him? When you were fussing all over his booboos and ran off to go tuck him nice and cosy into bed? Or when you came charging at me like a raging bull and practically proclaiming him your dearest friend?!

\- How about when I confronted you, instead of just running your mouth at me with all those spiteful things?! - I yelled in return, raising myself to all my height as well, though you can imagine that, in my short size, the effect was not quite the same. Still, I would not be intimidated by him, and to reiterate just that, I even took a step forward as I went on - Or, how about this: any time during the past three weeks, instead of spitefully ignoring me, my messages, even my birthday!

I recognise now the petulance of my words, believe me. But, like I said, I was hurt, I was mad, I was humiliated, not to mention emotionally exhausted, as well as physically. All there was left for me to do was to either blow up or break down, and I figured showing more weakness was simply not an option.

Draco looked coldly down at me and angrily cried:

\- Because you know what? It's not my problem that you think everybody has a bloody halo shining round their heads! And not that you with your perfect little life and your perfect little family in your perfect little world where everything goes your way would understand, but I've got more important things to worry about than stupid little Muggle films and your stupid little birthday!

So much for whatever little shred was left of my poor, butchered pride and dignity. That's what you get for stubbornly throwing out your sense of self-preservation and ignoring all the unequivocal "You're unwelcome" signs along an obviously one-way street, I suppose.

I had the vague notion that somewhere nearby a window was creaking open and a grumpy voice was complaining about noise and an even angrier painfully familiar voice was rudely shouting for it to get its snivelling nose back inside. But the stinging words were forcibly claiming my mind's undivided attention and the world around was getting too blurry for me to properly register much of anything more.

\- Tori? - came that voice that was a dagger in the guise of a caress - Are, are you crying?

Darn the treacherous moist rolling down my cheeks! I quickly turned my back to deal with it away from his prying eyes, stubbornly spitting:

\- You wish.

\- Tori...

I could feel him right behind me, the hesitant touch on my arm reverberating through every cell on my body. I ignored it. He called me again. I knew it was perfectly pointless to just stand there stubbornly facing the wall, but I kept at it a bit longer.

\- Look, I didn't mean that, okay? - he whispered, and for one delusional moment I thought he might, for once, actually apologise.

And so made the mistake of turning to face him hopefully. Only to have his tone grow strained and brusquer as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and stammered:

\- I meant... I don't know... You just... You think you're all nice and understanding... But you just... You just really don't know anything...

\- Oh great, so now I'm dumb, too! - I bitterly snapped.

\- No, you're just too bloody _innocent_! - Draco snapped back in an unsettlingly rueful, perhaps envious tone that I'd never heard before - You can't even imagine what it's like having the whole worl... Did you see the things they wrote about me in the _Prophet_? The way everyone just looks at me like I'm just a nasty piece of... Even Father... Father says I must enjoy to keep dragging our name through the mud just to punish him further!

He'd started pacing back and forth in his rant. Which, in the confined space of the tiny alley made it seem like he was basically turning around and around in a more disturbed, frantic movement than he already was. It was positively heartbreaking to see him like this, and you could hear it in my choked up voice as I tried to say:

\- You can still prove them wrong...

\- Prove them wrong! Prove them wrong! - he rounded up on me angrily sneering - See, that's what I'm talking about! You think we can just hide away in the Muggle world and pretend we're all nice, goodie little saints like you! Well, guess what! We're not! You don't even know... You can't possibly understand... You don't have a clue what I... the things I... You just...

\- Then tell me!

His face snapped to me like I had just suggested he volunteered his own scalp for the collection at the barber's up the street.

\- I CAN'T! YOU'D BLOODY HATE M... - catching himself, his features contorted into a deep scowl and he sharply amended through gritted teeth - You just don't understand!

\- How can you say I don't understand if you don't even give me a chance to? - I quietly insisted, knowing even as I voiced the words that they were hopeless. I could tell from the way his eyes relinquished mine and his jaw clenched tightly and his head shook stonily.

"Just let me in" I wanted to say, but by this point I knew better than to keep pushing my words.

Slowly, I reached my hand for his cheek. He didn't push me away as my fingers brushed the untimely lines etched in his skin, but slowly, almost grudgingly yet irresistibly, he hungrily leaned in to my touch.

How I'd missed the feel of his cool, pale skin warming under my fingers; seeing his creased brow soften and the storms in his eyes quiet! Not for the first time, they reminded me of endless, murky oceans where ships full of riches had gone adrift.

And then, slowly, like burning embers growing into flames, the need and hunger behind them deepened and the energy around us shifted. I saw as though in slow motion his pupils dilate, his eyes drop to my mouth, his lips part... Until finally, when his breath tickled my lips, I lost mine.

I knew I shouldn't. I knew I was not an insecure teenage girl anymore, I should see clearer now. These were supposed to be perfectly natural, innocent, platonic sentiments. He was clearly emotionally fragile, nothing more. There was no reason to believe his actions were motivated by anything more than neediness, and if I took advantage of that, I would be no better than the likes of Romilda Vane. Yes, I had all these carefully reasoned reasonable reasons why I shouldn't.

But of course my body had a will of its own.

So when his lips, his delicious gorgeous lips, came down to capture mine, all my carefully reasoned reasonable reasons went up in smoke.

My arms moved of their own accord to wrap around his neck, my fingers entangled in his silky platinum-blond strands, and my whole being surrendered to his searing kiss that seemed to melt my very core and drink me like a life source.

His arms caged me flush against him, mine locked onto him like Devil's Snare. He backed me up against the wall, I pulled him tighter against me. His fingers dug into my hips, my legs wrapped around his waist.

\- God, Tori… - Draco sighed into my mouth, and the sound sent fire to my core.

My only response was to tug harder at the roots of his hair, my language skills being reduced to a pathetic moan as he relinquished my mouth to torture my neck instead with a trail of warm, wet kisses. And then I positively purred like a pampered cat when his greedy hand slipped under my shirt, deliciously feathering my lower abdomen. His back became my scratching post, too.

The world around us had faded, there was nothing but the feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him flooding my senses and clouding my judgement. He was swallowing my every breath, igniting my every nerve, crushing every inch of me. And still my whole body, mind and spirit screamed for more.

Well, all but a tiny, irksome little sting trying to break through in the back of my head. And it was the only thing that kept me from going up in flames as he pressed his hips against me.

\- Draco… - I tried to say, but I'm afraid came out closer to a moan with the opposite effect.

Draco groaned in response and sharply suckled the skin right below my ear, practically driving me mad with sensory overload. When I was able to form minimally coherent speech again, I tried:

\- Draco, this isn't right...

\- I know... - he huskily agreed, but judging by the way he again claimed my lips, I'd say merely in an attempt to shut me up.

It would seem it was working, because I couldn't stop my mouth from returning the kiss. But my hands I managed to press to his chest, gently pushing. And he just squeezed my bum.

It wasn't until I pushed harder, unhooked my legs from his waist, and broke the kiss that at last his hands halted on my waist. And he pulled away slightly, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes alight and hair mussed up.

\- What? - he panted.

\- Doesn't this ring a bell to you? - I asked, equally breathless.

He frowned in confusion.

\- Remember that night in January when I first found you stumbling up Diagon Alley? - I said - You could barely stand on your feet and couldn't even tell me where you live...

His frown gave way to a cheeky smirk.

\- Oh, I see... You want to finish this at my place, then?

And he leaned in to nibble on my earlobe.

\- Draco... - I whimpered.

\- Tori... - he replied with another nip to that sensitive spot again, and I forgot what I was trying to say.

His mouth recommenced its delicious torture down the column of my throat, while his hands resumed their way up under my shirt. And there was that little red flag at the back of my mind, begging for attention but remaining just out of reach in the fog of my senses. But it was there.

\- Draco... - I tried again - You're drunk...

\- No, I'm not... - and he tried to shut me up with another kiss, but I said against his lips:

\- I can taste the Firewhiskey on your tongue...

That's when he leaned his forehead against mine with a harsh sigh.

\- So?

\- So you only kiss me when you're drunk...

\- Yeah? Well, you're only kissing me because you're lonely and frustrated, so...

I swear the breath was knocked out of me as though he'd just slapped me. With an iron glove embedded with a Stinging Hex.

And I shoved him back. Hard.

\- As opposed to desperate and debauched, I suppose! - I shouted - I saw Romilda Vane leaving here not even half an hour ago, you prick!

I realised as the words materialised on my lips that I had nearly forgotten her, in the rollercoaster of the interval that had elapsed since then. How was that even possible?

I saw the surprise flash across Draco's face, saw his mouth open and close with no sound coming out and saw his cheeks and ears flush as his eyes dropped to the ground. The fact that he didn't deny it was the final nail in my coffin. And not any coffin. That horrid "Iron Maiden" thingy.

Romilda Vane's flushed painted face and smeared lipstick came back to me, and I felt sick to my stomach.

It was too much. It was too much for one day, it was too much for the past three weeks, it was simply too much. I could feel the deluge building in my traitorous lacrimal glands and I had to get as far away as I could, as fast as I could.

I dove for my purse laying abandoned where it had fallen to the floor I hadn't even noticed when, and hastily fished out my wand to turn on the spot.

\- What're you doing?! - he called, and just each of his frantic words was like the hiss of a whip raising up before the imminent lash - Wait! Wait! Don't… You'll get yourself Splinched!

And as if to make sure his threat came through, he grabbed onto the back of my shirt. I took a deep breath, gritted my teeth and hissed:

\- Let go.

\- No!

He grabbed tighter.

\- Let go now.

\- No, at least let me take you home, your Apparition is terrible...

\- Because Apparating with a drunk pervert is much safer! - I snapped, and heard a sharp intake of breath at my words. Good. Why should he be the only one getting to be mean and spiteful?

"Other people's rudeness doesn't excuse yours!" came Mum's voice.

The way his hold relented so much I could easily turn, and the look I caught on his face as I did, told me I had mastered the art of being effectively mean startlingly easily. It wasn't that satisfying an accomplishment, to be honest.

\- I didn't mean that... - I murmured, copying his words from earlier. I suppose apologies didn't come to me any easier than they did to him.

There was a pause, and then he admitted in turn :

\- I didn't, either... I was just... I don't know...

\- I do. That's what you do. You're hurting, you're mad, and you want the world to know it. - I saw the instinctive sneer begin to form on his features, but before the accompanying retort could slip out, I went on - And I thought... You were right, it was presumptuous of me, but I thought I could... could help you see that you can be more than this, better than this... But we're right back at the start, with the drinking, the fight-picking, the carnal distractions...

\- No, we're not! - Draco spluttered - It's not like that!

\- Draco, you blasted a whole shelf of bottles at the Leaky Cauldron, earlier...

\- I know, but...

\- ... You drunk kissed me...

\- No, I swear I sobered...

\- ... right after being with Romilda...

\- I didn't... Tori, c'mon, you're overeacting...

\- Am I? - I choked.

I hadn't noticed my treacherous lacrimal glands had sidestepped me yet again until I felt Draco's cold finger wiping a tear on my cheek. I gently pushed his hand away.

His eyes went wide, I couldn't stand it. I looked away as I gripped my wand and said:

\- I'm sorry I couldn't help you the way I thought I could, but this I can't do... This isn't me...

\- This isn't me, either! - Draco countered, and the plea in his voice only made my tears pour faster - You're right, I can be better! I can! C'mon, Tori, not you too! I can be better! You have to believe me!

\- I do believe you, - I said, with one last look into the endless oceans of his eyes - but it's not up to me...

His downcast head was the last thing I registered as I turned on the spot and was swallowed into a vortex of nothingness.

* * *

There's a reason I prefer almost any other form of transportation to Apparition. Dismantling your entire being to reassemble it almost instantly some place else with nothing but your own mind to direct the whole process has a high potential for disaster. Especially when your mind is already dismantling in a whirlwind of its own.

And Essence of Dittany can work miracles on Splinching wounds, it really can. But, unless you want to risk ending up with the face of Yorkshire Terrier, there's not much to do when it is your eyebrows that are shaved off clean but to wait for nature's rhythm of growth.

Which is, apparently, much longer than the endurance of human amusement. Or maybe just my cousin's.

\- Well, look on the bright side, cuz! - Archie wheezed from inside the changing booth at Madam Malkin's three days into my indignity - If Macmillan can keep his good old polite, collected smile when you show up for dinner like that, you'll know he's a keeper!

And the door of the booth opened to show him sporting a huge teasing smirk along with a new set of school robes.

\- Try not to grow a foot until Christmas, and those should be fine. - I simply replied.

He frowned at me while turning back to check himself on the mirror, saying:

\- Was your wit all stored in your eyebrows? You're no fun today!

I thought of a quip about his eyebrow-related sense of humour, but saw no point in encouraging it further, so just waited for him to change back and finish his purchase. He kept mockingly wiggling his eyebrows at me all the while we waited for our change and then stepped out into the late afternoon bustle of Diagon Alley. I rolled my eyes at him.

\- Your mum already got your books, right? Do you need anything from the apothecary? - I asked as we wound our way through the crowd, enlarged by the Hogwarts students and their families that were starting to prepare for another school year.

\- Nah, I'm fine. Want to check out some brooms? Dad says it doesn't make sense to buy a new broom for just one more year, but I mean, then what's the point of buying new robes either, right?

I took a wistful glance at Quality Quidditch Supplies.

\- We need to get Daph and Theo's homewarming gift... - I reminded.

Although, after about three eternities in line for stationary, owl treats and robe fittings, we were entitled to washing our eyes a little, right? Yeah, Archie agreed:

\- Five minutes with the smell of freshly polished brooms will do wonders for our inspiration.

Except five minutes turned to fifty, then to a hundred, and by the time we began to not too hopefully eyeing the window shop of Wiseacre Wizarding Equipment, the sun was already sinking behind the buildings and the street sconces were igniting into flame. Also rekindled was my cousin's amusement with my mishap:

\- Really, though, do you think they'll have grown in the time for the party? - he said with a teasing grin while squinting at the price tag on an ugly vase.

I firmly shook my head with a grimace, while pointing out:

\- Daphne never said anything about a homewarming party.

\- It's Daphne. - Archie retorted, scrunching his nose at the gilded clock I was indicating - Of course there's going to be a party.

I shrugged.

\- Should we check inside?

Obviously, none of us was overly enthusiastic about going into a dusty, cramped shop full of bricabrac we couldn't for the life of us care much for. So I had to take the daring step of heading to the door. As the little bell announced our arrival, my cousin casually questioned:

\- So, who do you think will be there? Pansy, maybe?

Glancing back at him with a cocked hairless brow, that's when I saw it.

\- What? She's hot! - Archie shamelessly declared, but I was no longer listening.

The sound of my thumping heart was taking over as an unmistakably familiar platinum-blond head had caught my eye.

Not only did he not seem to notice us, he also seemed to be trying not to make himself too noticed as well. And it was with a stabbing pang of sadness and disappointment that I saw him covertly re-tuck something that appeared to me suspiciously like a glass bottle inside his robes, and slip around the corner into Knocturn Alley.

\- Tori? - Archie called, with a questioning glance over his shoulder to see where my hesitation was coming from.

But there was nothing more to see. Everyone was freely making their own course.

\- Yeah, er, I think I saw a nice wireless device behind that ugly vase, you know... - I said, hastily turning my attention back to the myriad of thingamabobs coming into view as I pushed the door open, and quickly slipped inside.

So much for trying to be better...

* * *

**So there you go :) Am I forgiven for the long wait?**

**This one was a little packed, with a lot of people and a lot of information. Hopefully, it wasn't too confusing... **

**As always, any thoughts you might want to share are most welcome! :D**


	12. Chapter 12 - Efforts Worth Making

**Chapter Eleven**

Love is a battlefield. It's one of those catchy phrases that always sounds very poetic in songs and that one might even sing along to at the top of one's lungs without much thought for its meaning.

Well, I had never thought it was to be taken so literally until that late August evening when I first laid eyes on my newly-married sister's new love nest.

There was a grand piano sticking out of a bay window on the ground floor, an ornate mahogany dresser toppled on its side in the middle of the front lawn, and an antique grandfather clock propped against an ash tree with all its clockwork falling out. Not to mention the blasts coming from somewhere behind the house.

The house itself was a quaint little country cottage with a neat square garden at the front, a white wooden fence all around and rustic blue shutters on every window. The spots of ivy trailing up its stone walls only added to its charm, making it seem almost like a natural extension of the rolling green hills all around.

It was quite a peaceful, bucolic scenery. Except for the broken furniture inexplicably strewn around, that is. And the sound of another couple of cracks and blasts.

\- Reckon the house fell on her and that's the Munchkins setting off fireworks out in the backyard? – Archie joked as we crossed the little garden to go around the house.

He was referring, you understand, to this very inaccurate Muggle children's story about some big phony wizard and some ugly evil witches with green faces we had been assigned to read in post-war compulsory Muggle Studies.

I, however, could not be so facetious about the matter. Loud sounds and destruction were still not my cup of tea, and I couldn't really help the grim scenarios that instantly flooded my mind at the sight.

Well, there were no Munchkins nor fireworks in the backyard, as it turned out. Nor monsters of any sort. Only my sister apparently engaged in a fierce battle with a moth-eaten, ripped up armchair. It cartwheeled around under a shower of little explosions with every whip of Daphne's wand, as she cried:

\- Reparo! Reparo! REPARO, you little piece of…

\- Hey, Daph!

She whirled around, wand in hand like a sword, so that my hands automatically flew up in defence.

\- Wow, easy on the blasts!

\- Oh, sorry!

Daphne lowered her wand with an apologetic smile and tucked it on the belt of her summery dress. Wiping her brow, she said with a roll of her eyes:

\- It seems spending generations in proud display in posh salons makes furniture develop quite an attitude…

And while hugging us both, explained with a sheepish sort of smile:

\- We're recovering some stuff from old Nott Manor, you see… Or trying to, at least… You weren't really supposed to see this mess, I had thought we would have this all sorted out, well, days ago… But come, let me give you a tour.

And without even waiting for a reply, she spun us around and guided us through the yard strewn with broken furniture, then to the old abandoned greenhouse she planned to restore, and then inside, talking eagerly of all her plans for remodelling and refurbishing.

\- … that wall will probably have to come down too, make these two rooms a bigger master bedroom, you see, otherwise I don't see how the rest of the set will fit… - she was prattling on, as we all sat on a vast ornate four-poster bed that occupied pretty much the entirety of the room, when the sound of footsteps reached us from outside and she positively leapt off of the bed – Oh, Theo's home!

We followed her as she dashed down the stairs, calling for the Nott's old house-elf with orders about dinner.

And then Archie smacked right into her, and I right into him, just like silly little cartoons, when she suddenly stopped in her tracks upon turning the corner, and screeched:

\- What the hell is _he_ doing here?!

Somehow I instantly knew, even before I peered around both of them, exactly who she was referring to. And sure enough, right next to my brother-in-law in the middle of the hallway stood the tall, lean, blond figure of Draco Malfoy.

I heard myself suck in a breath as the temperature in the house seemed to rise a hundred degrees.

Well, the first thing I noticed was that his platinum-blond hair had had a nice cut and was looking sleek and shiny under the light of the girandole on the wall behind him. The second was his pale grey eyes turning in my direction, and here my first instinct was to admire the freshly polished hardwood floor.

You might remember my last venture down Knocturn Alley. Remember the one? When I'd got myself tangled up in Draco's arms, and then even more jumbled up slipping out of them?

Let me just clarify here that that had been about two weeks and zero new interactions ago. And as far as the remaining company was aware, I might add, any interaction at all between the two of us had been virtually non-existent for years.

\- Daph, baby… - Theo began warily, and I saw my cousin try to give me a conspiratory look as he made a mock gagging motion. I belatedly replied with a smirk that I hope wasn't as feeble as I think it was, as Theo went on – Just hear him out, he's said he's sorry…

\- Oh, did he?! Funny, because I didn't hear a single word!

I felt the weight of his grey gaze lift from me and that snarky drawling voice retorted:

\- Well, I only just got here, didn't I? – then more blandly, almost cajolingly, added - And I come bearing gifts…

I made the mistake of quitting my study of the patterns that the light cast on the wall to take a glimpse at the unexpected visitor. And the winsome smile playing on his lips almost gave me dysrhythmia. Those delicious, gorgeous lips that had haunted my dreams as much as my waking hours for the past fortnight…

I shook off my straying thoughts, just as Daphne crossly bit out, advancing toward him:

\- So you make a mess of my wedding, set back my husband's hard work to get himself a fresh start, disappear without even a word of explanation, and now you think you can just show up at my house with your little bribes and… what?! What's your angle, Malfoy?

I thought Draco's eyes flicked to me for the briefest of moments, as though he kind of hoped I would intercede in his defence or something.

But I didn't have the chance, even if I had wanted to, even if I hadn't automatically focused back on counting floorboards with my ears about to melt off. Because Daphne seemed about to bite his head clean off, and Theo tried to intercede again:

\- Daph, I invited him… You wanted a little get-together…

\- With _family_, Theo! – she rounded on her husband – I said I'd invite the _family_.

\- Well, just _your_ family, then!

\- Oh, so now _he_ stands in for your family, does he?

Archie and I exchanged an uncomfortable look and he awkwardly began to say:

\- I just remembered I haven't even started packing my trunk, and I really don't feel like waking up tomorrow at dawn...

\- You're not going anywhere! - Daphne snarled, rounding on us both.

At the same time Theo turned to us with a sheepish smile and hands reaching out, saying:

\- No, please, stay. _Everyone_ should stay. – he added with a pointed look at his wife, before turning his smile back to Archie and me and properly greeting us.

The tension was palpable in the air as my sister grudgingly accepted Draco's homewarming gift (taking care to leave it in the hallway unopened as soon as she did) and ushered us into the living room.

The furniture in this room so far comprised of little more than the piano sticking out of the window, the Nott family's coat of arms hung above the empty fireplace, a rocking chair and a black velvet loveseat.

\- Er… We're still in the process of furnishing… - Theo rather sheepishly excused, while Daphne stared Draco down with a threatening look on her face, as though daring him to make one of his scathing remarks. He didn't.

Theo, like a good host, of course went on to insist that the guests took the available seats, while he set to Conjuring a small sofa for himself and Daphne. Archie at once took over the rocking chair with an amused "Wicked!".

And I watched, in a state of near panic, as Draco sauntered over to the remaining loveseat and promptly slumped down.

For a second I entertained the thought of Conjuring another chair for myself. But then decided that that would probably be tantamount to opening a direct Legillimency line into my head, not to mention rather rude, so I resigned to the less than half a loveseat available. I swear I nearly fell off the seat trying to sit at the very edge.

I was both terrified and giddy at the notion of his body mere inches from mine, the warmth radiating from him making my skin prickle. And though I did try to focus on the cheerful chatter my cousin was almost single-handedly keeping up, my mind kept treacherously slipping to thoughts of Draco's hands on my skin, mine in his hair, his body pressed against me and his lips…

\- Earth to Tori!

I was snapped out of my wandering thoughts to be confronted with my sister's questioning look and the realisation that I hadn't heard a single word.

\- Are you alright, little sister? – she asked with a frown – You seem distracted…

Maybe it was just my imagination, but I thought I heard the softest snigger from just next to me. I ignored it and prayed for my blush-prone cheeks to do the same.

\- Oh, er, yeah, I'm fine – I replied with the most convincing smile I could muster – I'm just thinking about, er, my rounds tomorrow…

\- But, cuz, you're not working tomorrow – Archie at once mercilessly called me out.

I tried not to be too obvious with my annoyance as I pointedly hissed at him:

\- Yes, I am.

\- You said you weren't! – he stubbornly insisted – You said you'd see me off at King's Cross so that I don't have to go with my mum and have her blubbering and fussing all over me in front of everybody. And, besides, your tutor already kicked you out of St. Mungo's…

\- What! – was Daphne's turn to exclaim, gaping at me. - You were kicked out of the hospital?!

I closed my eyes, summoning my every spare bit of patience.

\- No…

\- Yes! – Archie immediately contradicted – She was practically living there. Your Mum says she's hiding…

\- I'm not hiding, I'm working! - I protested, to what Archie immediately countered:

\- Overworking.

\- Who are you hiding from, little sister? – Daphne pressed – Have you shouted at one of Mum's friends again?

I groaned, and ran my hand down my face in a gesture of exasperation. Which was also meant to try to disguise the fact that my face was burning so hot, it could stand in for the empty fireplace.

I couldn't even tell whose inquisitive gaze was more piercing, my sister's or Draco's.

\- Look, I'm not hiding from anybody, okay! – I said – And that was one time, and I didn't shout at her, I just… well, told her like it is! Also, I wasn't kicked out of the hospital, I was advised to take a few days off because Goldstein was bitching that I was hogging all the cases!

\- So why were you hogging all the cases? – Daphne doggedly insisted, narrowing her eyes at me.

\- I wasn't, – I exasperatedly retorted - I always leave all the rectal bleedings for him!

As the boys broke out laughing, I thought I was off the hook for my momentary reverie. Daphne, however, was still eyeing me with narrowed eyes. And then irritably turned to Draco and waspishly snapped:

\- Instead of cackling, you could at least make yourself useful, since you're here, Malfoy! I seem to recall you had something of a knack for fixing broken furniture.

That effectively put an end to the amusement. Theo's eyes went wide. Draco's fists clenched until his knuckles were snow white. Even Archie's chair stopped rocking, as though the very shift of tension in the room had frozen it.

It seemed an eternity and a half, though it couldn't have been more than a minute, before a wheezy voice cut through the icy silence, announcing:

\- Bongo is coming to say that dinner is ready, master. Should Bongo start serving dinner?

Theo replied in the affirmative and we all tersely got up, but I was held back by my sister's fingers wrapping around my wrist before I could take more than a couple steps. As everyone else crossed into the adjoining dining room, she said quietly:

\- I have to talk to you, little sister.

Oh no! Why did my cousin have to have such a big mouth?

\- Daphne, just let it go. Please? – I said, and she pursed her lips, but wound her arm with mine and led me toward the impressively set table.

The dinning room was better equipped than the living room had been, so there was no need for last-minute Conjuring. Which is not to say that the seating arrangement didn't leave room for uncomfortableness.

Theo sat at the top, with Daphne and Draco on his either side and facing each other in what could only be described as a glaring competition. And myself directly beside my sister, tormented with a privileged view to the beautiful face I couldn't bear to face. Under the treacherous scrutiny of my cousin, sitting right across from me.

Strained silence once again settled in and reigned over the first several minutes of the meal, only occasionally broken by the short "Please pass the potatoes", "More salad?" or "Would anyone like wine?". And here Daphne nastily added:

\- Sorry, Draco, had I known you were coming, I would have had a few bottles of Firewhiskey aside for you.

It certainly did nothing to lighten the mood. Theo closed his eyes with a sigh. Archie stuffed his mouth with mashed potatoes. Draco's knuckles once again went white, around his knife and fork. I could see the nasty retort forming behind the icy glare with which he fixed my sister.

But then his eyes flicked to me for a second, then to his glass, and finally he drowned his unspoken words with a gulp of his pumpkin juice.

I kept myself from reading too much into his alcohol abstinence. For all I knew he could be planning on going straight to the pub afterwards.

I looked at Daphne.

Okay, I understood that she was mad for his behaviour at the wedding that had landed what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life on every front page for the worst reasons. And that he hadn't even given a satisfactory apology. But she wasn't exactly giving him a chance to, really. And what was she playing at, goading him like this?

She looked back at me with a bright smile, and then out of the blue, chirped:

\- So, little sister, next Friday there's going to be Witch Weekly's annual end-of-summer sunset party. Are you coming or are you coming?

I swear for a moment I just sat there blinking stupidly at her.

I was not staff, I was not a celebrity, and though my last name might still weigh enough to get me on the guest list, I had never been to, nor had I any interest in ever going to, a Witch Weekly's party. Which my sister knew perfectly well. She had known for all the parties before now, so why should this one be any different?

\- I'll go. – my cousin at once volunteered, but Daphne quickly waved him off with a dismissive:

\- You'll be at school.

And kept looking expectantly back at me. So I asked the obvious question:

\- Why?

\- Because, Tori, - she said like it was obvious - it'll be fun. It'll be near the beach, the Spellbound will perform, and anybody who's anybody will be there.

I suppose I should have made my meaning plainer.

\- I meant why do _you_ want me to go?

\- Because I want you to have fun, little sister. – she replied with a little shrug while casually taking a little bite of her venison. Too casually. – You've spent the whole summer basically hiding at the hospital.

Here I was about protest again that I had not been hiding, I had been working like mad to get myself selected for an important research project, but she reproachfully went on without even giving me a chance to utter a single sound:

\- And it shows, too. You're so pale you almost look like Malfoy over there.

Yet another unprovoked snub. I almost told her I took that as a compliment, Draco was gorgeous. Even with the dark circles under his eyes and the hollows in his cheeks. Which weren't even as pronounced as they had been a couple weeks before, I couldn't help but notice.

I also noticed that I was staring when his gorgeous eyes met mine, and so I quickly turned back to my sister and said instead:

\- Well, big sister, not all of us had the luxury of spending one month working on a tropical tan. – and then effusively added – Have I mentioned how nice it looks on you, by the way?

I had expected at this point she would restart her interminable gushing over her honeymoon, maybe even pull out photos like she'd done everywhere she'd been, every day since they'd got back.

Instead, she said:

\- Yes, you have. Speaking of tropical tan… Rolf Scamander, you know the cute magizoologist, is just returned from a field trip to the Seychelles and will be at the party…

There we go. Was matchmaking all everyone around me ever thought about? Or maybe Mum was putting her up to it, what with her designs for me and Ernie Macmillan not going anywhere. I wouldn't put it past the two of them to team up against me.

I rolled my eyes and somehow my gaze fell on Draco, who was looking at me as well. Probably deciding on which taunt about how lonely and uptight I was to throw at me any moment, I thought.

I turned my attention to my food.

\- …, you know the player from the Irish national team, he'll be there too – Daphne blabbered on, while Archie mockingly swooned and sighed and batted his lashes – I really think you'd like him, Pans has _interviewed_ him a few times and she says he's got a really big…

\- Merlin, Daphne, just stop! – I cried, my silverware falling onto my plate with a clatter while my cheeks practically sizzled – Do you not realise how ridiculous this is?! You know full well I don't care for that stupid party or for whatever celebrities are going to be there, and I certainly don't care for Pansy's leftovers!

There was one of those moments of silence following someone's outburst while the words dramatically hang in the air. Or maybe it was all in my head, but anyway, after that, a slow, triumphant smile spread across Daphne's face. Looking straight at Draco, she chirped:

\- Good call, little sister.

That's when my face spontaneously combusted. Well, not really, but it sure felt like it.

I had long suspected my sister had some sort of gift for sifting through my innermost thoughts. Now I knew for sure.

I didn't dare try to even glimpse the impact of her words on the implicated party. My nearly empty plate became the most enthralling work of art and, before the desserts were even served, my wrist watch was buzzing and glowing bright blue.

\- No way! – Daphne cried when I at once jumped to my feet – You're not even on call tonight, you were drinking wine just now! You rigged that somehow!

She was right. It was a little trick I'd come up with after that awful supper at the Fountain of Fair Fortune and that had been saving me from soirées with Mum's friends all summer.

It had been tricky, I had had to make sure my trigger spell did not tamper with the Protean Charm that connected my device to the central and that it didn't interfere with a potential real emergency call.

Anyway, no matter how accurate my sister's suspicions were, I would not confirm them. I bolted out of there like the whole country was succumbing to an epidemics of black cat flu at that very moment.

Unfortunately, my little scheme could not save me from each and every uncomfortable encounter.

For instance, it wouldn't do much good if I was at the hospital to begin with. Because it would be terribly irresponsible to make up fake emergencies in a place where there were real people in need of real care, you know. Also, everyone there knew our codes were only yellow or red.

Well, that's precisely where I was, the following monday: avidly following Professor Spleen around the hospital. (I had taken enough days-off, I was perfectly entitled to a mentored hands-on education, and Goldstein could go suck on a vinegar flavoured Bertie Bott bean).

Professor Spleen, as Head of the Magimedical Research Institute, would have an important role in selecting the trainee that would join the team responsible for that big study about poisons that I've mentioned before.

It was a big deal, you see, the kind that would make the likes of the _European Journal of Healing Magic_, and it would be a huge accomplishment for me to have my name on such a prestigious publication so early in my career.

So you can surely understand why it was extra-important to make a good impression. And that's what I was trying to do in the dragon pox ward, when Mr. Macmillan showed up.

Nothing particularly surprising there. But a certain uneasiness began to insinuate into my mind when he genially patted Professor Spleen on the back and said:

\- Professor, already exploiting the poor trainees this early in the morning?

Professor Spleen guffawed good-naturedly, made some witticism about the best students being the ones for whom learning did not run on a clock (that made me swell with pride and hope), and then Macmillan had to go and say:

\- Well, in that case surely you won't object to my stealing Miss Greengrass for a little bit?

Any hope that he might be about to show me some super rare case of cerebrumous spattergroit quickly vanished when he led me outside the corridor and started:

\- My dear, I have a couple of balcony seats for tomorrow night that I'm afraid I won't be able to use...

\- Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Sir. - I politely said, already trying to make up an excuse in case this got to where I was fearing it was going to lead. Which it did:

\- Oh well, I meant to talk to you, because my Ernie has shown some int...

\- Macmillan, just the man I was hoping to find!

We halted, stepped aside to let through two nurses with a stretcher upon which lay a body of a man with a head of a fish encased in a big water bubble, and then turned around to find the source of the voice. And my breath caught in my lungs.

Lumbering down the corridor toward us was the squat, rotund figure of the Head of the Financial Department, his slick, greedy smile tearing his face from ear to ear. Beside him, with a much more dignified gait, much more impressive figure, and much more breathtaking features, was Draco Malfoy.

\- Mr. Price.

Mr. Macmillan eyed both of them coldly as he stood without moving a single step, waiting for them to approach.

\- Healer Macmillan, perhaps you've met Mr. Malfoy, currently one of our biggest donors – Price introduced a little breathlessly, as though the walk down the corridor had been a bit too much exercise – Mr. Malfoy, our Head of the Magical Bugs and Diseases Department, Healer Macmillan.

Draco nodded curtly.

\- And Miss Greengrass, daughter of one of our senior board members. – the other added, as though in an afterthought, making me grit my teeth and Mr. Macmillan sharply correct:

\- Trainee-Healer Greengrass, one of our most competent colleagues.

I half expected Draco to spare me a curt nod as well, but he met my eye and declared, vaguely challengingly:

\- We've met.

I felt a completely irrational wave of warmth start to build up within me, and couldn't even find my mouth to reply to the curious look on Price's face, so Mr. Macmillan supplied:

\- Of course, you must have been classmates with her sister, dear Daphne, at Hogwarts.

It was a couple heartbeats before Draco nodded in confirmation and finally broke eye contact. I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding.

Price at once delved into an effusive explanation of how Draco was planning on making a big donation and had, therefore, insisted upon having a thorough look around to see what the main needs of the hospital were.

\- So I was thinking, you as Head of Department, always have a more detailed idea of this floor's management… - Price coaxingly was saying to Macmillan.

I started to excuse myself to go look for Professor Spleen, but as Macmillan evaded Price on the grounds of a meeting, the Head of Finance decided the Head of the Research Institute was also someone worth pestering over funds and donations. And I was left with no choice but to lead the two of them to him.

However, not before Macmillan decided to part with a casual light squeeze of my arm and the words:

\- It's a date, then, my dear. Ernie will pick you up at half past seven.

I felt all the blood in my body rush to my face. And then rush out just as quickly when I turned back around to face Price and Draco as Macmillan turned away.

Mr. Macmillan had spoken in such a low, intimate tone that I had hoped our little private exchange had remained perfectly so. One look at the scowl on Draco's face was more than enough to know I had been wrong.

Before I even had the chance to open my mouth, he abruptly turned to Price, saying in the coldest drawl:

\- I think I've seen enough. I have business to attend elsewhere.

And just as abruptly turned around and swept down the corridor in a swirl of midnight blue robes, leaving Price to awkwardly rush after him, urgently asking when he could expect a check.

I stood rooted to my spot, watching the platinum-blond head disappear in the mass of nurses, healers and patients with the vague notion that my brain was in hypoxia, though I didn't know why. Then it hit me that he must be taking all the oxygen in the corridor with him.

Still, I would not run after him to get it back. That would be extremely undignified, and there was already one idiot doing that.

No, I went in the opposite direction, took hostage one of the service lifts (made sure there were no stretchers or wheelchairs nor any priority users in the vicinity and prayed there wouldn't be any urgently waiting on other floors, either), got off on the ground floor, took a shortcut through the passage behind the portrait of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor and intercepted him halfway down the administrative wing, before Price had managed to tackle the last flight of stairs.

\- Draco… - I practically puffed.

And that's when I realised I hadn't really thought through anything beyond the route.

Still, he stopped (not that he had much choice, unless he intended to run me over) and looked down at me with an air of absolute haughty coldness.

I took a breath (I could breathe now), squared my shoulders and blurted the first words that came to my head:

\- It's not a date.

Well, it wasn't. Not like that, not anywhere but in Mum's and the Macmillan's heads.

Why I felt the need to explain that to him, however, was another matter entirely, and one I was not prepared to explore just yet.

Draco let out a small sound that could be a mixture of a grunt and a snort.

Then the sound of heavy, clumsy footsteps reached us from just around the corner, accompanied by a wheezing call of:

\- Mr… Malfoy…

\- God! – Draco groaned with a roll of his eyes.

I, without a thought, unceremoniously pulled him through the nearest door.

\- What do you think you're doing?! – he hissed in protest, but not exactly putting up much resistance, because I managed to get him in after myself and close the door before Price had come into sight.

Then I noticed the stalls and the urinals. We were in the men's lavatory. And as if that wasn't enough, there was a sound of flushing and to my great horror, I recognised the shoes peeking out under the only closed stall.

You'd think the obvious thing to do would be to exit the men's loo, where I shouldn't have entered to begin with, right?

Instead, I slipped into a stall, closed the door and crouched on the toilet. The thought had even crossed my mind to hide Draco too, but the look on his face had told me I'd probably end up with my head down the toilet if I tried, so I left him to fend for himself.

I heard the other stall open and footsteps, then a pause, then a stiff:

\- Mr. Malfoy

Followed by an awkward:

\- Mr. Greengrass.

Then the sound of water running, then footsteps, then a door opening and closing.

I don't really know what I had expected to happen, but I found myself letting out a breath I didn't know I had been holding.

And then nearly fell off of my perch at the sound of the snappish sneer:

\- Are you quite done playing hide and seek?

I sheepishly got out of the stall with my heart hammering in my chest and my face practically incandescent.

Draco was leaning against one of the sinks with his arms crossed over his chest and the surliest of expressions on his face.

\- You're completely mental, did you know that? – he snapped.

Was I? I didn't think I was, not normally. Especially at work, I always took care to keep a clear and sharp, focused and clinical frame of mind.

Even that morning, I had succeeded in reversing a tricky transfiguration gone wrong all by myself, and beat Goldstein to the correct diagnose of an early onset of Scrofungulus. That's why Professor Spleen had chosen me over Mr. Whiny-stein to accompany him in his rounds, you see.

And then Draco had showed up, and suddenly I was doing obstacle races across the hospital, stalking people without a coherent reason, gracelessly invading the men's lavatory and crouching on toilets to avoid my own father. What?

Somehow, it was all Draco's fault. He messed my head up. He'd once accused me of messing with his head, but obviously he was the one messing with mine. From running into Knocturn Alley and snogging in dark, shabby alleyways, to crouching on toilets in the men's loo at my work place, he was the one making me act completely mental!

\- I'm mental?! – I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest – Says the one who goes around blowing things up at the pub and trying to shag every girl he comes across!

I instantly bit my tongue, but it was too late. His eyes were already narrowed at me and the smug, taunting smirk was already in place, and he nastily drawled:

\- That bothers you, does it?

\- In the interest of the safety of all the customers of such a historical establishment… - I began to say, sticking my chin up as convincingly as I could. But he cut across me with an even wider smirk:

\- I meant thinking of me with other girls.

I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that the thought of him with Romilda Vane right before he kissed me, and I kissed him back, still made me sick to my stomach and made me shed more tears than I care to admit.

\- As long as you're perfectly disillusioned of the idea that I will be one of them… - I retorted with the most nonchalance I could muster.

It's twisted that my stupid cardiac muscle fluttered a bit when his smirk faltered.

I saw his lip begin to curl and the scathing retort right under his tongue. But then he chewed on his words for a moment, and finally looked away, muttering:

\- Is that really what you think of me?

And the trace of hurt and vulnerability in his voice tugged at me. My fingers at once itched to touch his face, my lips to tell him that, no, I believed there was more to him than that.

But I couldn't, I didn't trust myself with that role anymore. I had been there before, I had failed and I was still reeling from the inner aftermath.

So I took the cowardly way out and goaded:

\- That's what everyone thinks of you. It's not like your actions leave room for many other interpretations.

Well, it worked. The cold scowl came up at once.

\- Yeah? – Draco spat – And what the hell do you know…

\- Nothing! We've already established that! I know nothing about your life and your trials and tribulations!

\- Yeah, damn right, you don't! – he shouted - So don't stand there judging me for what you _think_ happened!

I don't know what it was about being shouted at that seemed to prompt my lacrimal glands into hyperactivity. The last thing my face needed at the moment was water running down my cheeks (and probably instantly turning into steam, if the perceived temperature of my cheeks was any indication), and that's what I focused on keeping my ocular appendages aware of.

\- And don't give me that look! – Draco went on snapping, though maybe a couple tones less aggressively – If you hadn't been so busy freaking out and running away, I would've told you I hadn't done anything with that Vane girl!

I'm sure my scepticism was splashed on my face as I looked back at him, unable to produce a reply. I had seen her, seen her flushed painted face and smeared lipstick, and he hadn't denied being with her when I first said so. He was lying.

And even if, for some reason, nothing had actually happened that time exactly before I showed up, it didn't mean it hadn't been happening at all. Even with other girls, she had had a friend with her the first time I'd caught them. And I'd seen him slip into Knocturn Alley again days after we kissed.

\- I haven't for a few months, you know. Not with her, not with anyone. – he said, answering my silent questions.

Not necessarily with the truth, my brain reminded me. Though why my brain should feel entitled to this information to begin with, or why Draco was sharing it with me, were perfect mysteries I didn't care for delving into at the moment.

Still, my impertinence knew no bounds, as I heard myself further question:

\- Why?

Here, Draco, who had been avoiding my eye and surly frowning at the floor with his cheeks tinged pink, now flushed almost crimson and snapped:

\- That's none of your business, is it?

And that's when the thought clicked on me, and all the petty jealousy was at once put aside.

Slowly, I walked toward where he stood leaning against the sink. He watched me approach with a wary, guarded look upon his face but didn't say a thing. I made a point to look right at him with an encouraging smile, to let him know it was okay to tell me, and gently asked:

\- Draco, why did you come here?

Uneasiness flashed across his features and he grumpily sneered:

\- You shoved me in here, remember?

\- I meant here, at St. Mungo's.

His uneasiness only deepened. I could see the rapid rising and falling of his chest and his sneering tone grew sharper:

\- Was that Price clown not clear enough?

I placed my hand upon his and, if for a moment he seemed to positively panic, then his features began to relax and he actually moved to entwine his fingers with mine.

That's when I decided it was safe to say:

\- You don't have to be embarrassed, okay? If you need to talk with someone, or if you want me to run a few tests…

\- What!

I veritably staggered a step backward at the suddenness with which Draco snatched his hand from mine and, growing to his full height, eyes flashing and face blazing, cried:

\- The hell are you talking about? What tests?!

\- To find out why you can't…

\- I can't what?! You thought… You thought… - he spluttered, then exploded - There's nothing wrong with my manhood!

Now I was embarrassed too. Beyond embarrassed, really. I was wishing I was on my broom, crashing into a deserted island with an active volcano, I was so embarrassed.

\- But… But you said… - I stuttered without even knowing what I was trying to say – And you came to the hospital…

\- Because I'm making a donation! – Draco cried – My family has been patron of this hospital for decades!

\- Oh, okay… I just thought… I thought… because you said you haven't for months, but you've been going to Knocturn Alley and, and Romilda…

\- I turned her down!

The question why at once leapt into my mind, but by now I'd learned my lesson about pursuing this subject that wasn't even my business to enquire about. Damn, was he mad!

He looked like a veritable dragon about to spit fire as he whirled around, shaking his head and breathing heavily. I lingered a couple paces away, unsure what to do or what to say.

Gripping the sides of a sink, he sighed harshly and said in a low tone:

\- Things at home have been… complicated. Mother and I have come to the conclusion that it is safest if certain items be removed from the manor…

\- What sort of items?

I wouldn't have been sure I had voiced the fearful question aloud if it wasn't for Draco snapping his gaze to me on the mirror and impatiently say:

\- God, Tori, do you want me to spell it out for you? Yes, Dark stuff, poisons and weapons mostly… - he exhaled harshly again and then went on – There's this shop at Knocturn Alley that has been doing business with my family for generations, so they're familiar with our valuables and make us good deals…

\- Oh, okay…

Maybe it was just my twisted brain desperately wanting him not to have been meeting Romilda Vane and drinking himself into oblivion (even if in that order), but that actually made sense. It even explained the glass bottle that I'd automatically assumed was alcohol the last time I'd seen him slip into that shady shopping district.

Granted, it still meant that he was dealing in illegal, Dark stuff, but at least he was getting rid of it. I tried not to focus on how he was doing so by passing it on to people who would probably do with it worse than he ever had. It was one less thing for the authorities to go after him, so that was a good thing.

Still, there were better ways, more useful ways. Ways that didn't lead him anywhere Romilda Vane might be around, even if he was turning her down.

\- You know, - I tentatively began, going to lean against the sink beside his - the lab is preparing to conduct this big study to come up with a new wide-range antidote, something like a synthetic next-generation bezoar… Since you're planning on making donations, I'm sure those items would make for valuable study material…

\- Yeah, and everyone would know where it had come from! – he retorted with a sneer – Might as well just go around conjuring Dark Mar…

And he suddenly fell silent, because the door was opening and someone was coming in.

The young clerk that entered hesitated for a moment, looking between me, in my work robes, and Draco, both of us still slightly flushed from our previous misunderstanding, and our whole exchange in general.

Not that we were doing anything scandalous, besides my being in the men's lavatory with a man during my working hours, but it looked bad enough to sound worse than it was. And everyone knows how rumours work.

What if this got out? What if it reached Professor Spleen? It would ruin everything I'd been working for! What if it reached Dad? It would jeopardise all the respect he'd amassed during years on the Board!

\- Er, well, sir, I reckon that's perfectly healed – I heard myself say to Draco in a rather squeaky but arguably the most convincing tone I could muster – Next time do try not to get your fingers stuck to the hot water pipe… Good day!

And with that dashed out the door as though it was the watch on my wrist glowing bright red and not just my face.

* * *

I was not able to avoid the evening at the opera with Ernie Macmillan.

Not that I didn't appreciate the art, but surely you'll understand that the last thing you want after a whole day of rushing between scales-sprouting, sparks-sneezing invalids is to sit through three hours of the twisted courtship between a soprano Banshee and a baritone Vampire, complemented by a choir of Ogres.

This time I didn't even bother resorting to my decoy. By the recess, I was sporting a headache big enough to justify an emergency exit.

Though going home proved to be little relief.

\- It's blatant disrespect, Astoria! – Mum crossly chastised all the way up the stairs to my bedroom – Not even when you were a child would you show this little sense of propriety! You would sit through your Grandfather's entire concerts and applaud at the end by the age of four without so much as a stir!

\- Mum, - I said wearily as I opened the door and hoped she wouldn't follow me in – at the age of four I didn't have twelve-hour shifts attending to an outbreak of dragon pox.

My hopes were crushed when Mum pushed into the bedroom right after me. I had to keep myself from groaning loudly.

She came to stand behind me as I sat at my dresser removing the make-up and jewellery she'd so eagerly assisted me put on, and started undoing my hair and brushing it down my back, saying with a purse of her lips:

\- Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Tori, you think hiding behind your work…

Oh not this again!

\- I'm not hiding! – I protested, and then winced because getting excited did nothing for my growing headache.

Mum frowned at me in the mirror. And then must have realised my pain was real, because she quietly called Bizzy and had her fetch Angel's Trumpet Draught.

Setting down the hair brush, Mum began to gently, most soothingly, as only mothers can, massaging my scalp and rubbing my temples. My eyes fluttered shut and her voice could have been a veritable lullaby as she softly discoursed:

\- Your drive is commendable, darling, and no one is prouder than I am of your successes. But I'm afraid you are limiting your energies to this one aspect of your life and disinvesting in others…

Meaning I wasn't trying hard enough at whatever I was supposed to be trying to do with Ernie Macmillan. I sighed, a paradoxical sigh of both exasperation at her words and pleasure at her ministrations.

\- Well, Mum, maybe some aspects have already more than proved themselves hopeless…

In hindsight, I reckon that remark might have come off a little more dramatic than I had intended. Which would explain why Mum so abruptly stopped her delightful treatment and briskly cried:

\- Never! Astoria, you are twenty one years old, you have hardly lived enough to know what you can spend a lifetime without! You do not want to find out too late that an empty house is not a home.

I was too exhausted to come up with anything more than:

\- Okay, Mum, I'll sleep on it.

She didn't seem at all appeased, but mercifully acceded to leave me to get undressed and go to bed.

* * *

Next morning, I was already putting my work robes on when Goldstein arrived at the locker room.

\- Morning. – he curtly greeted as he hastily made to his locker and tapped the door with his wand.

I was already closing my locker.

\- Good morning. – I greeted back, pleased with the notion of this little head start.

Though he was on my heels the moment I stepped out into the corridor, and Professor Spleen was rushing in our direction, lime green robes billowing about him.

\- Goldstein, Greengrass! – he called, and that was our cue to follow – One of you, second floor, they've got three more with suspected dragon pox; the other one, with me, we've got a Muggle straight from an immediate encounter with a manticore.

\- Manticore! – both of us immediately claimed.

I shot Goldstein a "back off" sort of look. He shot me one right back, sarcastically whispering so that the Professor wouldn't hear:

\- You sure, Greengrass? It's a Muggle, and he's probably bloody…

\- Don't worry – I retorted in the exact same tone – I'll wear gloves.

We were now reaching the top of the stairs to the first floor and I made to follow Professor Spleen as he turned left after the last step. And so did Goldstein, who at the last minute said:

\- Sir, I never had dragon pox as a child, I'm not immunised.

Professor Spleen didn't even look back as he directed:

\- Greengrass, you go up.

I swear I stood in that exact same step grinding my teeth and growling after them so long, a nurse passing by even questioned if I needed the first-aid kit for nosocomial lycanthropy infection. I almost snarled at her.

Instead, I forced myself to politely thank her and made my way to another marathon of scales-sprouting, sparks-sneezing invalids.

It was past lunch time when I made it out of the ward, brow positively dripping, robes singed and feet sore. And of course I couldn't possibly make it out of the whole corridor without running into Macmillan.

\- What a terrible outbreak, my dear… - he gravelly remarked as soon as he fell in step with me. I politely agreed, but I wasn't to get rid of him that easily. - Ernie told me about your evening, I was sorry to hear you weren't feeling well. I trust you are quite better now?

I dutifully apologised again for my premature exit and assured him that I was quite recovered from my headache.

\- Oh good, my dear. I did fear that you might have caught this nasty pox.

We were now reaching the stairs, and he was giving no sign of releasing me.

\- No, no, Sir, thankfully I'm immunised.

Unlike _some_ people, I bitterly added in my head.

\- Funny how that works, isn't it? Maybe that's the trick, to get everyone sick as children, so that we don't have these terrible outbursts among the elderly...

\- Yes, sir, perhaps someone should look into that alternative...

We were now on the first floor, and still he made no motion to go in any other direction as I made for the last flight of stairs.

\- Why indeed, it's high time someone did. - he agreed - It's hardly acceptable that we're still approaching this highly prevalent illness with treatments from medieval times.

\- Indeed, Sir. It's an area that could use some advancement.

Ground floor. I was starting to worry he really was going to accompany me all the way to lunch. Surely that wouldn't be appropriate, right?

\- It certainly is, my dear, certainly is. I myself have actually, for a while now, had in my head to look into that. Perhaps this outbreak is the right opportunity to do so. Why, at least a review article to gather all that is known about the subject is long overdue. – he pensively went on.

I could hear the bustle of voices and clinking of cutlery on plates from the staff's lunchroom just a few yards ahead.

\- Well, with this outbreak, surely at least a few case studies won't be too difficult to carry out, either. – I concurred.

\- No, no they wouldn't. And perhaps there's even opportunity for a clinical trial… - then the thoughtful look gave way to a smile and he veritable exclaimed – My dear, I do think we have the makings for a project, here! You could make it your thesis, even, and be done with that.

Wow, what? I hadn't thought this would go anywhere further than a hypothetical discussion.

\- Oh, I don't know what to say, Sir!

Actually, what I wanted to say was I already had my sights set on another research project. A very concrete, perfectly planned out and potentially ground-breaking project about to start in a few weeks.

And that my extensive hours in his department lately had had more to do with demand of the circumstances than with a choice based on any particular interest in the subject or in his mentorship on my part.

We reached the staff's lunchroom just as he replied:

\- Well, it's just an idea, of course. But perhaps we both could give it some thought. – and then signalling to someone passing by, cordially greeted – Ah, Cuthbert!

And with a last pat of my elbow, headed toward a table with a bunch of other Heads of department and senior healers.

I made my way to the table where the rest of the trainees were listening to Goldstein prattle on about my usurped manticore case. I sat down and tuned him out.

No matter, I would have my name on a prestigious publication to speak for my accomplishments soon enough.

* * *

\- Alas, it has been agony with no relief since those Ministry tomfools took away my amulets and my elixirs! – Great-aunt Mathilda was loudly complaining, as per usual, that evening at dinner, in regard to her gout. – A bit more, Bizzy, don't be dingy!

The elf obligingly kept pouring mead into her glass, and only when it was full to the very brim, did she say:

\- That's it! Now pass me some more roast beef.

By this point, it was a mere formality to appease my own conscience to say:

\- Auntie, those weren't even properly approved remedies… For all we know, they could be more harmful than helpful…

She waved me off dismissively and took a big swig of her mead.

Mum just gave me a subtle roll of her eyes that clearly meant "Why do you even keep trying?", while Dad wiped his mouth with his napkin and then brightly remarked:

\- Speaking of harmful concoctions, can you believe that the most curious shipment of all manner of poisons arrived today on the Institute's doorstep?

\- Why's that curious? – I asked with a bite of my vegetables – There's going to be a study about poisons there, it's only natural that they order samples.

Dad shook his head as he took a sip of his wine, and then said:

\- But that's just it. Those kind of orders have to pass by the Board, given the sensitive nature of the products. This batch was not in our books! It must have been a donation, though who would be aware of the plans for a study that hasn't even started…

An inexplicable wave of warmth washed over me. I set to carefully arranging the peas on my plate and slowly chewed my food before enquiring:

\- And, er, do you have any idea of who might have been behind it?

\- Well, isn't it obvious? - Great-aunt Mathilda snidely remarked with an ungainly snort – Some rotter of an escaped Death Eater infiltrated there and wanting to get rid of incriminating property!

I uncharitably wished she would choke on her potatoes.

\- Or maybe someone genuinely seeking redemption and trying to contribute for a good cause! – I defensively interjected.

She let out a cackle, but before her derision could be expressed any further and my hold on my own tongue could be seriously put to the test, Dad appeasingly interceded:

\- In any case, it was an anonymous donation, so this is a moot point. And no matter the intention, it really does speed things up a bit. Once the material is properly inventoried, as long as the Ministry doesn't come picking trouble, the study should be about ready to begin…

My heart was swelling in my chest, and I'm not sure it was entirely out of excitement for the project. I noticed Mum observing me with a curious look on her face, so I hastened to disguise the pathetic grin spreading across my face with a sip of my juice. And then, tentatively began:

\- So, if the study is ready to start, surely a decision has been reached about who will be participating…

There was a pause, only filled by the scraping of the silverware on china, the crackling of the fire and Mr. Felix purring in front of the hearth.

\- Well, yes, it has… - Dad slowly confirmed, eyes on his plate.

\- And?

\- And Professor Spleen will be addressing the interested parties soon, through the appropriate means…

I heaved a sigh.

Okay, Dad and I had a very strict understanding about the boundaries of our personal ties in our professional settings, one you might even say I was almost obsessively conscientious about.

There were already those trying to devalue my competence, there was no need to give them more reason to. But it's not like I was asking him to bias a decision or anything, here.

\- For Merlin's sake, Philip, just tell the girl whether she's in or not! What's that going to change?!

Thank you, Mum!

It was Dad's turn to sigh and then, fixing me with those clear blue eyes that were exactly like mine, shook his head.

For a second, I entertained the feeble hope that he was just stubbornly refusing to disclose the information. But then Dad added:

\- I'm truly sorry, pixie, I know how much you wanted this...

My world crumbled.

Okay, I realised that might be a bit of an overstatement, but it really was a hard blow. I had been so hopeful…

And if he thought belittling me with nicknames he used to call me as a child would help, he was wrong.

It didn't make sense, Professor Spleen complimented my good work and commitment on an almost daily basis. I had, like Archie had pointed out, practically been kicked out of the hospital for too much commitment! Or rather, because Goldstein couldn't compete with my level of commitment…

\- Oh, let me guess! – I cried – They chose Goldstein, didn't they?

Dad didn't reply, which I took as confirmation.

I snapped. I mean, really snapped, as in full tantrum, flinging my silverware onto my plate snapped.

\- What the hell did he do that I didn't?!

\- Astoria…

\- I have more lab experience! I worked with world-renowned Alchemists in Florence! I have extra credits from the volunteer work at Azkaban! I virtually lived at St. Mungo's all summer!

\- Astoria! – Dad said in a low tone – The committee felt that Mr. Goldstein having one more year of training…

\- Bullshit!

Dad's face went red, Mum positively gasped, and Great-aunt Mathilda at once began crowing about "scandal", "ignominy", "disrespect for one's elders". And somewhere in my head I knew that she was right, I really did. But at the moment I just chose to ignore it.

\- Don't even try to tell me this has to do with anything but the fact that he's got a stupid fake Galleon saying Dumbledore's Army! – I petulantly cried. - Just like you losing the run for Head of the Board to that jumped-up Dedalus Diggle last year! Just like Uncle being practically serving as bibelot ever since Bill Weasley decided he was done with the pyramids and wanted a desk job! Because God forbid war heroes not taking precedence over the rest of us! Especially Purebloods forever in debt for their Dark tendencies by default!

I wasn't even sure where this had come from, I had never been one to hold resentments. And certainly not for people I had never even met. This level of antagonism was a complete revelation. Even for myself.

\- Astoria - Dad again recommenced, face beyond beetroot red, and the vein on his forehead pulsating dangerously - it is not your place to question the committee's decision...

\- Yeah! And apparently, neither is yours! I never asked for preferential treatment, but you don't have to bloody sabotage me!

I knew that, in truth, he had had little to nothing to do with the decision, I really did. The Hospital Board had no direct influence over the research work at the Institute, and even if they did, Dad was one voice among twenty. So it really was an utterly spiteful, impertinent, disrespectful thing to say.

And I suppose I could hardly be surprised that Dad'd hand came flying across my cheek.

I don't know if the gasp that accompanied the blow was mine or Mum's, but the ensuing sob was certainly Mum's. I was too shocked to do anything but blink unseeingly ahead.

You see, my Dad is the calmest, most reasonable person I know. He had only ever raised a hand against me once, when I was five and completely upturned his study by playing with a swarm of Cornish Pixies in there. It was the action itself, more than the pain, that rattled me. Because it spoke of the level of my shameful disrespect, you see.

My Mum's quiet sobs, the crackling of the fire and mine and Dad's heavy breathings were the only sounds cutting the heavy silence for a few long moments.

Then I murmured my excuse and began to get up, and that's when Great-aunt Mathilda saw fit to lean forward on the table, her ample bosom positively squashing into her plate, her index finger stuck in the air at me, and barked:

\- You know what your problem is, young girl?

I rushed out of the room toward my bedroom, but still her raucous, barking voice followed me nearly all the way up the stairs:

\- You don't know how to cope with frustration! You've never had to, you're a spoiled brat used to having everything going your way on the first try! But if everytime you fail...

As if to prove her right beyond all doubt, I slammed my door shut.

* * *

Another day of scales-sprouting, sparks-sneezing invalids followed, but this time, just as luck would have it, Macmillan was nowhere to be found. At least not the one I was looking for, Mrs. Macmillan I spotted in the drawing room having tea with my Mum the moment I got home.

I turned on my heel and headed back out before they could even notice I had been there. And went straight to my sanctuary. Coward, I know.

\- There will be other research projects. - my oldest friend bluntly said while placing in front of me a nice, big slice of apple pie and a milkshake. - Granted, precious little war heroes will probably still get them before you...

Waving her wand toward the door, she shut it and turned on the "closed" sign, and took the seat in front of me. I would have said something about her closing the Confectionery earlier on my account, but it's not like it was a busy day for business anyway. It had been over an hour since the last client had come in, ordered a cupcake at the counter, and immediately left. It was not uncommon, though. Lottie said most of her business was by mail-order.

Instead I stabbed the innocent delicacy in front of me with a roll of my eyes.

\- Wow, you're quite the master of pep talks!

She gave me a dark half-smile.

\- Sorry, I meant to say "there, there, you'll get your own project" - then took a nonchalant bite off of my slice of pie and added - When you marry Macmillan and become honorary D.A. member.

\- Not helping!

\- Fine, I'll bake you some poisoned scones for you to hand out to the competition.

I sipped my milkshake with a snort.

\- Much better.

\- Well, a girl's got to uphold the spawn of Death Eaters reputation. - she said with a not-so-nonchalant shrug, and an even less convincing unemotional tone - Speaking of, when are you going to see father again?

You might remember Lottie's dad was in Azkaban, and in need of regular medical care following an injury during a prison scuffle a little over a year before. And not just any injury, but a stab wound from a cursed blade.

How a cursed blade found its way into a top security prison, I do not know. I would like to believe that the removal of the Dementors and the humanizing of the health and hygiene conditions hadn't come at the price of safety and security.

\- Tomorrow, actually. - I replied, and, noticing the hardening of her jaw and of her eyes, I placed my hand on hers and gently said - I don't expect there will be much of a change, for good or for bad...

Well, I didn't expect, but it seems that was a week for the unexpected. And the bad kind, at that.

So next morning, during my monthly visit to Azkaban, apart from Fenrir Greyback's leers and taunts when I went to give him his dose of Wolfsbane (through the bars, mind), from the nameless creepy old man once again enquiring after my mummy, and from the hateful comments from Professor Carrow telling me in varying degrees of nastiness what a disappointment of a student I had been, I was also confronted with the unhoped for aggravation of Mr. Selwyn's condition.

The curse, whose progress I had so far managed to slow down and limit to the liver and pancreas, had now managed to go upward an infect the base of the lung right lung. The prospects certainly would go from bad to worse once the respiratory ability became compromised.

And if Friday morning started on a bad note, the afternoon only got worse.

I arrived at the hospital to the news that the dragon pox outburst had spread to our permanent residence ward, where two people had started to cough embers and developing scales. One of them being the elderly, fragile, already nearly comatose grandfather of my former classmate, Eve Nussenbaum. Needless to say, the prognosis was less than hopeful.

Well, I think it sums up pretty well how bad the day, or rather the whole week, was, when the only glimmer of positivity was spotting Mr. Macmillan exiting the council room on my way to clock out. I practically pounced on him like a Niffler catching sight of a Sickle while wading in a sea of black coal.

I'll spare you the details of the initial pleasantries. By the time I had stalked him halfway down the corridor, I thought it was acceptable to finally get the ball rolling.

\- Sir, - I said – I was wondering if you have given any more thought to that idea of a research project about dragon pox…

It was no poison study, in fact, it was nothing more than an abstract idea discussed hypothetically on a way to lunch. But it was the best I had for the moment, so I was prepared to speech him into it and personally plan it into concreteness if I had to.

\- Yes indeed, my dear. - Macmillan surprised me by saying - I've even taken the liberty to bring it up with the Research Committee and they look forward to see a written plan.

\- Wow, I'm happy to hear it, Sir. – I said.

Maybe not that happy, though. That had been fast. As fast as I had been to refuse it, and now I might have lost my chance.

We passed the portrait of Mungo Bonham healing a child with an elephant's trunk, and I was momentarily distracted by the thought of Draco placing his arm familiarly around my shoulders for the first time in this corridor years before. Merlin, how I missed that!

Maybe I should drop him a line. At least to thank him for the donation. Not that I would get to benefit from it, but it's the intention that counts, right?

He hadn't been just getting rid of the stuff like Great-aunt Mathilda had said, surely. I mean, he had already found a way to do that.

And he had tried to make peace with Daphne, too. That had to count for something, right?

And the floozies. He had been turning them down. He hadn't turned me down, though. No, quite the opposite, actually.

I realised a stupid little grin had started to spread across my face, when Mr. Macmillan trailed off prattling about how to objectively classify types of fiery sneezes with a questioning look upon his face.

I shook off my wandering thoughts and tried to convert my expression into appropriate interest.

\- Oh, well, that surely sounds challenging, sir. – I said - I've actually thought some more about it, too.

\- Have you really? – he asked, sounding hopeful. Which, in turn, made me hopeful.

We were now reaching the staff room, and I would rather not have this conversation in front of other colleagues. Just in case there any more usurpers, you know.

So I subtly slowed my pace and took the plunge:

\- Yes, and I would very much like to take your offer and assist you in your project. If the position hasn't yet been filled, that is.

Macmillan veritably halted.

\- Well, that is splendid, my dear! – he proclaimed, and I beamed. - I was thinking of talking to Professor Spleen soon to find me a trainee for the position, but it is all the better to have someone I already trust!

I'm pretty sure my sigh of relief was audible along the entire corridor. So maybe the whole day, or rather the whole week, wasn't a complete failure.

And then he had to go and good-naturedly add with a light squeeze of my arm:

\- And this way, we keep it in the family, eh?

My heart skipped a beat.

\- F-family?

Surely he meant his distant kinship with my Mum.

\- Why, my dear, don't tell me I've ruined the surprise for you? – Mr. Macmillan confusedly asked – My wife said your Mum would tell you, since you didn't make it in time for your ladies' tea...

\- Tell me what? - I asked in barely more than a whisper, because somehow all the air in the corridor seemed to be eluding my lungs.

\- Oh, I take it she didn't have the chance, then... - Mr. Macmillan nervously remarked, but then quickly recovered and, beaming brightly right at me, announced - It is my pleasure to tell you, then, my dear, that by the time the article gets published, it'll likely already be signed Macmillan &amp; Macmillan!

I froze. Really, my lungs constricted into two blocks of ice, my heart positively congealed, and my brain went perfectly blank.

I have the vague notion that his mouth continued to open and close, open and close interminably, his face genially alighted, and that at some point he gave me another light squeeze on my arm and set off toward the exit.

My only thought was of getting on my broom and fly away. And of Draco. For some reason, he popped into my head right then, and it was like someone had just cut my legs and taught them karate kicks with my chest for practice.

Which is completely absurd, because my legs were perfectly attached to my body as they carried it into the staff room. It was my lungs that refused to work. And my heart that decided to revolt against its rib cage. And my hands that seemed to have lost all dexterity and dropped my wand twice while trying to insert the code into my locker. And then somehow managed to bring the entire content of said locker tumbling to the floor.

As if Goldstein and everyone else in the room weren't already getting quite the show!

I couldn't even muster up the indignation at him picking up a couple of notebooks and quills that had slipped a little further away and hand them to me looking all concerned. I took them with a curt "thank you", and it was as I hastened to stuff everything back inside the locker that it caught me eye.

Hanging at the very back, forgotten behind all the tomes and stationery and magimedical instruments, the clothes bag containing the never worn, tailor-made specimen of a cocktail dress that I was supposed to have worn for my sister's engagement party all those months before. Which, if you'll recall, I'd completely forgotten to.

And the maddest idea sprang into my head.

* * *

**A/N: Greetings, my dear readers, just a quick note to give you my thanks for your continued support!**

**This chapter became a little longer than I'd initially planned, but I hope it wasn't too tiresome. You might also have felt that Draco didn't get enough spotlight, but I promise the next one will make up for it ;)**

**Anyway, comments? Constructive criticism? Ideas? Suggestions? Predictions?**

**Happy reading, everyone :D**


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